


N.O.R.W.I.C.H

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Civilian John Sheppard, DADT, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Geek John Sheppard, Hurt Rodney McKay, M/M, Mathematicians, Military!Rodney, Oblivious Rodney McKay, Romantic Fluff, Sex Is Fun, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: A hand swiped in front of his vision, and snagged a book from the end of the table. "Oh my god, is this trash about dinosaurs? This is why you're blocking the books that actually have applications on the world I can assume you live in? You do live in this -- oh, oh." Oh, and the voice twigged at his ears but the face finished it for his eyes, narrow face and wide blue eyes, and a wide crooked slash of a mouth that hung slack."Hi, McKay. Nice to see you. Never knew you had a thing for dinosaurs."(In which John has bad eyesight and _still_ gets up to adventures)
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	N.O.R.W.I.C.H

**Author's Note:**

> We're still digging out and reposting old stories -- expect more unearthed McShep!

John Sheppard was thirty-two years old, a math whiz, and a busy man. He had a full schedule more often than he wanted, and spent more time scrawling his (extraordinarily bad) signature on the inside of books with quick inscriptions to thus-and-such than he liked.

If he had known that being a New York Times bestselling author was such a pain in the ass, he never would have sat down and written that first book.

Ever.

He'd been depressed as hell at the time, though. The on-again, off-again relationship he'd had with a guy in the physics department at CalTech had been off-again. The guy had run out of funding for his Ph.D. and decided to pick up a quicky career in the military to help pay for it. The Air Force, and wow. That had stung a lot more than he had ever really thought it would, because no matter how old he got, memories of wanting to be a pilot still lingered deep in him and made him yearn for the sky.

Unfortunately, his vision had been shit. He'd asked his vision guy once to see what his vision might be on the twenty scale, and gotten a look of consternation. He'd said, "John, your vision's not even on it." A little pressure had gotten a more exact answer -- 20/1800, maybe, at a guess. So, yeah. He was never going to be a test-pilot, that much was certain.

He had been just under legal, and the urge to poison himself with alcohol had never seemed like such a good idea anyway. Instead of doing that, he'd devoted half of his time to finishing up his Masters and the other half (when he should have been sleeping and eating) had been devoted to his first novel.

It had worked out pretty well, actually. He still couldn't believe that people actually understood everything he talked about, but readers loved them. They read them greedily, bought copies for their relatives, and it pretty much kept him reasonably well-paid and able to do anything he wanted.

Right at the moment, what he wanted to do was close the doors of the little book store in Colorado Springs where he was signing books and go home to take a nap.

His fingers were cramped. It was getting to the point that every time he cracked his knuckles, it sounded like he was assembling a transformer from the eighties, all snapping clicks, but his hand wasn't turning into a water cannon or anything, so. It just sounded like that, and John needed to get home. Get a beer, stretch out and let his mind be a wide open canvas for a while. He'd long since gotten bored of picking interesting looking people out of the line and turning them into side characters inside of his skull.

"Hey, what's a paying customer have to do to get to the sciences section?"

That sounded vaguely familiar, even if John couldn't quite figure out why. "Hey, why don't you guys kinda clear a path?" At least that way, whoever it was could find what they wanted. And hey, look. Almost eight. They'd cut the line off in about ten minutes and life would hopefully get better, at least for his aching hand.

"Yes, thank you. Seriously, how much room do you people need?" A hand swiped in front of his vision, and snagged a book from the end of the table. "Oh my god, is this trash about dinosaurs? This is why you're blocking the books that actually have applications on the world I can assume you live in? You do live in this -- oh, oh." Oh, and the voice twigged at his ears but the face finished it for his eyes, narrow face and wide blue eyes, and a wide crooked slash of a mouth that hung slack.

"Hi, McKay. Nice to see you. Never knew you had a thing for dinosaurs."

Huh. The reason he'd actually started all of this anyway, looking back at him with the expression John usually saw on the woodpecker that kept trying to come through the windows and roost on the open beams of his living room.

He'd always thought the thing was damn stupid, even if it was whimsically hopeful for a bird.

"I, uh." He lifted the copy of the book up, staring at John like he'd just stepped up out of an open grave. "Uh. It's good to see you again, are uh, all these people here for you?" Yeah, and he was standing right in the way of the line. The lady behind him was actually looking like she might reach up and grab him by the hair, of which there was remarkably less than John remembered.

Two girls in the back were talking about McKay's ass, though. Yeah. John knew those signs.

"Yeah, I'd guess they are. So, uh, the science section's back that way, but..." God, he was an idiot. Willfully blind, even, and that thought made him wince. "...we could catch up over coffee, later."

"Oh, uh. Sure. I'll be --" He gestured broadly sideways towards the sciences section, and started to wander off, looking over his shoulder at John with the most baffled expression. He looked good, still. Balding, but good, and John always noted that sort of miserably, because there was a part of him that wanted all of his ex-lovers to turn into monkeys.

Bald monkeys.

With bad teeth and hideous wives who humiliated them in public.

God, John had really had the biggest love affair with McKay's heart-shaped ass and bad attitude, and now there he was, right in the middle of Poor Richard's looking almost as good as the day he'd walked out on John.

Life really sucked sometimes.

"To Mary Alice," the woman who'd probably wanted to brain McKay with her book said, giving him a little blushing smile. He got that a lot, actually.

John was good looking, and that was all that seemed to matter. He was good looking, and they loved what he wrote so there was that whole hero worship thing going on, but John remembered that and hunting authors down at book signings for a few stuttered words and a sense of either elation or disappointment.

"Well, Mary Alice, thank you for coming. I'm glad to see you." Yeah, because even though this sucked, people like this bought his books, and kept him in his comfortable house not too far from here, and let him come to a used book store for signing because it was local, and cool, and low pressure. Lots better than the ones in big towns, anyway.

He focused on that for the next half an hour, and was vaguely aware of when the place was emptied out. He just wanted to lay his hand on the table for a second, or possibly cut it off at the wrist. 

And then there was that rustling plastic noise. "So, uh. I was going to just duck out when I realized I don't know how to contact you. So."

"You could have ducked out anyway." Yeah, not the nicest thing in the world to say but it was true. "It wouldn't be the first time." Or the last, John figured.

"Right, well. I didn't duck out so much as you were amazingly creeped out by my career choice and stopped showing up, and it just..." Rodney waved a hand slightly, still holding the plastic bag.

Yeah. History was definitely written by the victors, because that sounded like the complete opposite of what John remembered. McKay hadn't so much walked out on him as just stopped having time to spend with him. He was always off running or hiking or... who the fuck knew what he was doing with a bunch of ROTC guys who were a lot more interested in blowing shit up than they were in, say, math or wormhole physics. "I stopped showing up," John said flatly. "I did."

".... now you're mocking me. I still remember that tone of voice, because you always had to be just the snippiest little queen in class," Rodney muttered, and then he put his hands on his hips, glaring at John. "Look, uh."

"You were saying, Rodney? About me being a queen?" Yeah, if they actually left Richard's, McKay was so going to be the one paying for the coffee. And anything else, actually. "'cause, you know, I could have sworn you were the one always bringing the drama."

"Right, well, this isn't the foot I wanted to start this back off on. It's good to see you, even if you're writing dinosaur trash, and uh. Are you still up for coffee?" He looked vaguely abashed, which meant that it was one more emotion than he'd known before.

Who knew. Maybe the Air Force had actually been good for him.

"Why not?" John drawled. "If you're sure that you won't be embarrassed by sitting in a coffee shop with a half-blind author of dinosaur trash. Oh. Yeah. A queeny half-blind author of dinosaur trash."

"Please, this is Colorado Springs. Bastion of mega churches and if you throw a muffin into a crowd of people the likelihood that you'll hit Brass is 98%. You're a fantastic change of pace from the locals, and this is a sign I've lived here too long." Rodney stood there, like he expected John to just leave, and John needed to make small talk with the owner, get records for his publisher about attendance. Well. Wait for his assistant to do that, but he needed to be there.

If McKay thought he was getting any more out of John than a cup of coffee and a to-the-point fuck you, he was pretty damned wrong about that. "I have to do a few things first," he said finally, and okay. Maybe it was bitchy to be holding a grudge against him still, but John honestly couldn't seem to help himself. Never mind the fact that McKay ditching him had pretty much ended up giving him a life's work.

More or less. 

"Hey, that's okay. I'll, uh. Just linger over here." John could almost hear the unspoken 'awkwardly, until you feel guilty' and god knew what the man was actually thinking. No, god probably didn't know. Rodney was almost as predictable as a Kansas tornado. On a good day.

John shook his head and went to talk to Amy and the guy who usually managed the signings. It was nice of them, and he appreciated it. After all, it wasn't exactly normal for them to have signings in a used book store, but since he was a local, it made things easier for everybody, pretty much. The atmosphere had been good, and he was pretty sure that a lot of the attendees had then wandered aisles and spent more money, so it had worked out well. Nice inviting feeling to the place.

Amy glanced over her should towards Rodney, lingering by the table nice and obvious and awkwardly. "John, you know that guy, right? We can't have you disappearing in the night on us, or found in a trash bag or eaten by Raptors."

"Yeah, don't worry. We worked on a couple of grad degrees together." A couple of them, even though John would bet money that McKay had a couple more. He was like that. "Don't worry. If I'm not home by tomorrow, you can contact the Air Force and tell 'em McKay made off with me."

Ha. As if that was likely.

"Oh." His assistant was eyeing him, but she was funny that way. She was bright and helpful and always seemed to have a sneaking suspicion that he was going to end up dead from AIDS or murdered in the back of a sex club, where the likelihood of his being bored to death at a book reading was forty times higher. "Okay. I'll, uh, right up here at NORAD? Or?"

Yeah, actually, it probably was. Rodney had been... John was smart, but McKay had been off the charts, so that was probably the reason he was actually in Colorado Springs, of all places. "Yeah. Don't worry so much." He nudged her shoulder gently with his. Amy had been with him for about six years. He'd managed to get a bad case of the flu and his publisher had been calling and yelling about deadlines even though he couldn't drag his sorry ass out of bed. John had called a temp service in desperation to get somebody who could at least answer the phone and maybe read over some of the stuff to be sure he hadn't written something half-crazy in his delirium. He'd lucked out, and she'd stuck around, so it had all worked out. "Besides. He's pretty harmless. Well." He used to be.

Aside from the part where he'd broken John's heart. Asshole.

Now he could probably break John's heart and his bones in thirty different places, and possibly his spine. With a pinkie.

Except Rodney had always been... Rodney. "Well? Qualifiers don't make me feel any better. Here, you finish this off and I'm going to get his contact information in case the police need it."

"Well, aside from being kind of an asshole." He wasn't about to tell Amy no to do something like that, because it was pretty useless. "I'll do this while you..." Yeah.

While she went over there to shake him down, which he was trying not to watch while Al craned his head to peer past John, all curiosity. "McKay's a regular here. He's got a list of books as long as my arm that he wants if we ever get one in."

"Yeah, but Amy's kinda protective. You remember the day the guy kept coming on and wouldn't get lost?" Al had to remember that. It had been kind of disastrous. Pepper spray was a bitch in close quarters. "I'll let her give him the shakedown, anyway."

"That'll be the day." Al peered a little, and it took an act of god not to turn around and watch, too. "There's no books left over to return to your publisher, and I'll put a few of them up on the shelves new."

"I appreciate it." He did, honestly, even if he was glad it was over. "I think my hand is just glad it's over."

"You might want to try holding a hot drink in it." A hot toddy, a hot coffee, but probably a hot chai so he could go home and still sleep afterwards. McKay would probably order the most obnoxiously complicated drink he could and top it off with whipped cream.

And then bitch about the barista.

John shrugged. "I'm going out for coffee with McKay, so it's in the plan for tonight. Thanks again. And if you run across a hardback copy of Mad Jack..." So what if John had a hardon for romance novels. They were pleasant, mindless reading that kept him from thinking too much when he wanted to fall asleep. He liked to fall asleep with a book on his chest and the vague glow of the lamp. 

"Gotcha. I'll give you a call." Al smiled, because he'd really given Al a great night, all the hassle included, and they both knew it. "Have a good night."

"See you later," John agreed, and moved towards Amy and McKay.

"I don't care how classified it is. I want all of your contact information, or at least a superior officer to contact in case John goes missing," she was insisting firmly when he got closer.

"Are you kidding? He's not going to go missing! We went to grad school together!" Rodney was staring at her. "I'll give you my cell phone number, you strange little woman, but that's it!"

John could tell from the look on Amy's face that she wasn't going to let it go, even though she probably should. "Look, McKay. Let her know who your commanding officer is and she'll be happy and we can go."

"Lieutenant Colonel Sam Carter." He crossed his arms over his chest, plastic bag shoved up high on his wrist.

"See? That couldn't possibly have hurt as much as you made it sound like," Amy snipped, jotting it down in her PDA. "And don't think I won't come looking for you if John doesn't show up where he should be by tomorrow morning. I don't like the looks of you."

Yeah. John would marry Amy if she wasn't, well. A woman, not to say that women weren't nice, he just wasn't too into them. He was sort of an ass man, always had been, and now all he could think of was how tight Rodney's had been and how good the sex had been, and... And he needed to get laid, desperately. 

"I don't like the looks of you, either, but I doubt you wake up every morning and wonder what I think, so don't be too surprised that I'm not really concerned with your opinion."

"Right, so. Coffee. I'll call you in the morning about getting the new stuff in." John reached out, wrapped an arm around Amy's shoulder and laughed. It was kind of funny, actually. If he left her alone with McKay, he wasn't sure who'd win that fight, but it'd be worth the price of admission. 

She still kept eyeballing Rodney. "First thing," she made him promise.

"First thing."

"I'm not a serial killer here!" Rodney protested it loudly, hands down at his hips again. "Jesus, please, can we get out of here and start catching up?"

"I dunno, Rodney. Do you think we can, or do you think we should stay here so Amy can actually shake you down a little better?" John couldn't help smirking. "'cause it looks like you're enjoying it." Yeah. How was straight going for Rodney?

Probably not very well, if John knew Rodney. It was hopefully going miserable, but given that Rodney looked healthy, and still hot, then he'd probably learned to love heterosexual sex and was having a lot of it. Just to spite John.

"Good, now that we've confirmed that you're still crazy..."

"Not any crazier than you, McKay. I'll see you in the morning, Amy." He waved to Al, and pushed Rodney towards the door. "C'mon. Let's go get some coffee."

"Now I need coffee with booze in it," Rodney muttered, stumbling towards the door a little. He pushed it open, and held it for John, letting warm air escape the inside of the bookstore as they slipped out onto the sidewalk.

"Yeah, well, you're not coming back to my place, so I guess we'd better settle for someplace willing to spike your coffee. There's an Applebee's three or four miles up the road," and yeah, okay. Alcohol and Rodney had never exactly been a good combination. Somehow it always ended up with Rodney on his back and John between his knees.

Not that John minded much, but whatever rank Rodney had might. "Eh, real coffee is still better. And closer." Walking distance closer, which was good if John wanted to escape uninvolved.

"Whatever floats your boat, McKay." They were walking just as comfortably as they used to, and yeah. That kind of pissed John off, that it seemed so stupidly easy when it wasn't. "You were the one who mentioned liquor."

"Shitty off the cuff remark," Rodney shrugged. "So, you have a personal assistant who's also your bodyguard?"

That was pretty much the sum of the matter. "Yeah, well. I've got some pretty scary fans."

"I never thought you'd go into writing. I thought you'd be a dean somewhere. Making old tenured professors pissed off that you were their boss." Rodney rolled his shoulders, still carrying that bag of heavy-looking books with him.

Of course he'd be a dean or something, because he couldn't see, so he couldn't fly. And there Rodney was, in the Air Force and probably doing everything John had wanted to do. Fucker. Okay, so probably not. Rodney wasn't the test pilot type, no matter what John would like to be able to hold against him.

"Yeah, well, it was either a drinking binge or writing since I couldn't sleep."

"Functioning livers are a pretty nice thing," Rodney stated quietly. He'd used to put his hands in his pockets, a lot, but he wasn't, even though it was cold out, and John knew he had to look weird looking at Rodney's hands while they walked. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Maybe he hadn't meant to say that and maybe he had. Maybe he wanted Rodney to know just how miserable he had made John with his stupid ass ways of funding his education. Ha! "Well, let me think about it, McKay."

Beside him, McKay was silent for a moment. "I, uh. If I jump to the conclusion I want to jump to, and I'm wrong, then you're going to wait until you have a hot coffee in your hand and then you'll throw it at my face, and I kind of need my eyes."

"And I'd enjoy poking them out with hot, steely sharp objects so much." Yeah, actually. "You were an asshole, McKay."

"Look, I lost funding, and I was on my way to being shipped back to Canada when my student visa expired, oh, far too soon. So I thought 'Hey, leave the country or join the military,' and it hasn't been too bad for me. Career wise. I've been bad for me career wise, but my science has saved me more times than I can count and I'm not that bad of a leader, given the general level of leadership that they consider 'acceptable'. I never, uh, expected you to lose sleep over me."

"Hello? McKay? Nice to meet you. I'm John, the guy you roomed with and fucked," John spat, "for nearly four years before you did your whole..." He waved his arms around wildly. "...let me run off and do military stuff all the time and never come home until you wandered in sheepishly to pack your shit! What did you think I was gonna do? Shack up with Kavanagh from down the hall?"

"No, you had better taste than that." Rodney shifted uncomfortably beside John, and reached for the door of the Starbucks. "I don't know. I didn't ever think I mattered that much to you, and there was always training to go to..."

"And running, and shooting, and seriously, McKay. You're Canadian. Now admittedly you already disproved the nice part way back, but I didn't think you'd all of a sudden be so happy about blowing shit up." John paused at the counter, glad they were the only people in Starbucks for now. "Tall skinny hazelnut latte and a slice of the chocolate hazelnut coffee cake. He's paying."

"Okay, when I told you that I built a model nuke in sixth grade, you thought I was joking? Do you have any idea how happy they are to find people who come to them already proficient in that level of blowing shit up? Never mind that my sperm have probably all mutated, but. Not like I need them." The girl behind the counter was staring at Rodney while he fished for his wallet. "Huh, right, make his skinny hazelnut latte at least a grande and charge me accordingly, and I'll take a venti white chocolate mocha, soy, and some of that cake with the chocolate in it. A piece that hasn't been anywhere near the lemon bars, thanks."

"Still paranoid about citrus, I see. Make mine a venti, too, while you're at it." Just because, hey, if he could be a pain in the ass in at least a small way, John was good with that. "Of course I didn't think you were joking, I just didn't think you meant you still had an urge to make things explode."

"As a chemical reaction, it's very satisfying. Particularly when used for a good cause." Oh, shit. The words 'good cause' made John's ears twinge, because if it turned into a Crazy Right Wing ex-gay ex-Canadian moment, then he could be satisfied that Rodney actually had failed in life because he'd clearly have gone batshit in there somewhere. Rodney had always been against just buying the party line. "Not that it happens that way, but still. Someone has to shoot for the Nobel prize."

"Yeah, because they give Nobels to guys who blow things up on a regular basis these days, McKay." He'd definitely gone off the rails. "Generally not on the books."

"No, some other things I'm doing that I can't actually tell you about." Rodney looked thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, we'll probably all be dead before they're declassified."

That was probably true, actually. The military had a lot of top-secret projects that didn't get outed for decades, so John wouldn't be surprised if that was the truth. "Oh, well. That makes me feel better."

"Mmm. I have the strangest job most days." Rodney signed for his card swipe, then shuffled towards the red light that hung over the smooth counter where orders showed up.

"I'd say tell me about it, but I'm betting that you're probably tongue-tied, about this at least." Plus, he didn't really want to know. Not really.

Okay, he was dying of curiosity.

"Your name is Meredith McKay?" The woman behind the counter gave his signature a second glance, and peered over the top of the espresso machine at him.

That might well be the best thing John had heard in his entire life. "That's what the M stands for? Meredith?"

"What, okay, yes, yes, it is." Rodney's cheeks were flushing, right over the bridge of his nose and threatening to slide down his neck.

"Well, Meredith, I think the young lady wants your signature." John smirked because seriously. Meredith.

He was so naming his next female character Merry, even if McKay didn't read his books. He never would, but it would feel good to do it. "Look, I signed it right and it matches the back of my card so if you could just close the till. Honestly, I know people who sign it squiggle squiggle bump and no one looks at it twice."

"Their names aren't Meredith," John mocked happily as the girl pushed the till closed and handed over his cake. Mmm, cake.

He wasn't as skinny as he'd been in college, but everybody filled out a little once they stopped eating a steady diet of ramen. He was still skinny-hipped even if he was broader through the chest and shoulders, but McKay... well. He'd definitely broadened up top. John remembered Rodney when he was thin as a rail, all big blue eyes and long lashes with blond curls and a pouty lower lip. Meredith had actually been more appropriate twelve years ago. Now, it was suitably humiliating for a big broad shouldered military man.

Rodney grunted at him. "Yes, well, I don't write pseudo romance action novels."

"Or make unbelievable amounts of money doing so." Mmm, cake. John had a serious hardon for hazelnuts, he had to admit. "You... are making not nearly as much money as me. And you have to run every morning, I'll bet." That was a good thought, too, because Rodney had always huddled under his sheets and tried to hide when the alarm went off for his ten o'clock class.

"Actually, I get enough workout on the job that it's not really a concern anymore. Strangely. Which is okay, because the gym's walls are cinderblock and the TVs are really small, which makes the already monotonous treadmill even more so." Rodney reached for his chocolate swirled pound cake. "I used to have to, though. Five am. I hated it. I have no words for how much I hated it."

"So. Catching up," John said, and moved for one of the armchairs in the corner. He wasn't going to think about Rodney running, or how tight his ass was, or anything else. No, he wasn't. "Preferably before morning, 'cause Amy really will come looking for you, McKay."

"Mmm, I've got a big... to-do tomorrow. Mission. Thing. The rest of the team is off team building with booze." And Rodney went book shopping. "So, I'll have to be gone in the morning, too. Also, I think the Starbucks closes at eleven." Rodney sat down, but he kept his eyes trained on the shelf with the red light over it, waiting for their coffee as if it made the difference between life and death.

Wow. McKay went on missions? He wouldn't have thought anybody would be stupid enough to send him out to get shot at. Not that Rodney wasn't brave enough, but they'd paid for his education so they had to know exactly how smart McKay was. Exactly. And shooting at him made stupid look like it had been left behind at the speed of light. "How long'll you be gone?"

"If everything goes well, less than three days. If everything goes to hell like usual, a week, or until my funeral, or until I get out of our oh-so comfortable infirmary. I've never won an award yet for my optimism." Rodney started out of the seat, staring at the coffee shelf while the girl set two drinks out and called, 'Meredith'.

Meredith. He.

John let Rodney bring the coffee, and he watched him. His ass was just as great as ever, possibly even better. It made John a little depressed. Possibly even a lot. Still being all... well, feeling stuff for a guy he'd broken up with that long ago just sucked.

He took the coffee when Rodney held it out for him, while Rodney sat back down in his own overstuffed chair. "So. Do you actually live out here or are you just in the area for the tour?"

"Nah. I live about twenty minutes from here, give or take. Depending on traffic." Which could be kind of a bitch, but once he got back to his place, it wasn't so bad. 

Plus, he stayed at his place most of the time, always. "You're kidding me." Rodney said it while staring at him a little. "Why here?"

John shrugged and leaned back, sipping from his cup. "Why not here?" he asked finally. "It's a nice enough place, most people don't figure I'd be found anyplace like this. Plus, the drive's gated, so that keeps most of the real nuts from hunting me down and invading my house. The weather's nice and the view kicks ass. What's not to like?"

"Oh." Rodney seemed to be actually thinking about that when he finally nodded. "True, actually. I mean, I bought a house out here, so I can't say anything."

"Yeah?" John raised both eyebrows and looked at him. "Near Peterson, I'm guessing. Whatever you're up to, I can't imagine they'd waste you so completely you didn't have to lecture occasionally."

Rodney the homeowner. John had lived with him, and he had a pretty good memory of Rodney's idea of what 'clean' was. "Nope, no lecturing at all, thank god, except to the idiots I work with. I'm out at the mountain."

That was breaking out all the stops. "You're at the Mountain," he said slowly, putting down his cup. "And you're going on missions. From the Mountain."

"Yes." Rodney waved his hand slightly, and swallowed a ridiculous mouthful of his coffee. "Like I said, I have the strangest job in the world some days."

The strangest job in the world or he'd cracked like a bad egg. "I'm not going to ask," John decided, sniffing, "because I'm sure you can't tell." That seemed to have hit a nerve, because McKay flinched, and John felt a mean little spark of satisfaction at that.

"Not that I'm not familiar with that already," Rodney muttered into his cup, giving John what he remembered as a dirty look. "I bet you have every hot young thing who wants to be an 'artiste' shacked up with you."

"Oh, yeah. I'm all about the hot young things. Artistes, even." John couldn't remember the last time he got laid, not without thinking about it. If a guy had to think about it, then it had been way too long, obviously. "I'm living the Colorado Springs answer to a Harold Robbins novel."

"Who?" Rodney at least asked it with a laugh, settling better into his chair.

"Novelist who ended up writing your basic porn fantasies and selling them to housewives." Yeah, except really, violet wands didn't seem like anything that would catch on with the average housewife. Not that John had ever figured, anyway. "Think of all the dirty things that ever shocked you and imagine them in one place."

It got him a raised eyebrow. "No, I really don't have much shock left in me anymore. But I get the gist of what you're saying. Congrats."

"Yeah, well. I had to do something to occupy my time when you moved out. I figured it was time to move on to riding crops and house boys. The artistes who move in and out seem to like 'em."

"What about the illegal immigrants you hire as house boys, though. They have to get tired of the riding crops, and the in and out... of day to day life." Rodney broke a piece off of his pound cake, and popped it into his mouth.

John smirked at him, and really. This conversation was boring him, or maybe hurting him. He wasn't even sure which. "Yeah, well, what's a houseboy or four between artistes?"

Rodney shook his head. "Probably not much. So... I guess I'm obliged to ask if you're married, had kids, whatever."

As if he would. Jesus, what the hell was Rodney thinking? He'd been shit with women, never seen it coming, and didn't know what to do with them once they had decided he was what they wanted. That was always how it worked out with John and women -- badly. "When you left, I gave up sleeping for writing. I've released eight novels in the last twelve years." Yeah, okay. He sucked, actually, and he probably should have made something up. A supermodel wife and four kids just waiting for him back home. "Most artiste types get fed up with a guy who rolls over, grabs his glasses and boots the laptop at three am."

"I figured." And he looked like he did, sincerely, so he'd probably been ego stroking John instead of brain dead. "No one wants to get involved in my mess."

"What? No blonde wife waiting at home with a little girl in her arms and a little boy attached to her apron strings?" John sipped at his latte and sprawled more comfortably into his chair.

Rodney grimaced against his coffee cup. "I joined the Air Force, John. I didn't have a lobotomy, even if you seem to think that I did. The urge to settle down with a robotic wife and have 2.5 children with a dog in the yard hasn't struck me yet. The best I've done is I've kept in touch with my sister."

That was something. John hadn't seen Jeannie since she was a kid, screaming Mer in a traumatized kind of way as their folks toted her off. Come to think of it, maybe Meredith shouldn't have been such a surprise. "I figured they probably hadn't done you any favors, even if they didn't remove bits of your bran. How's Jeannie?"

"Good. Great, actually. I get newsletters from every liberal PAC that exists, and daily links to blogs against the privatization of science. She's doing the married with kids thing. To an English teacher, of all people." Rodney shifted, recrossed his legs at the knee in that hysterical prim way he always had.

How the entire U.S. military didn't know Rodney was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide, John couldn't begin to guess. "That's kind of weird. I remember her being this little kid, crying like they were breaking her heart by making her go home."

"They sort of did. But, it's been, what? Twelve years and change now. She grew up, went to college, threw away a lifetime of beautiful work because Caleb wooed her just right, but I think when Madison's older she'll go back to academia. She really belongs there."

Once upon a time, John had kind of thought Rodney did, too.

"Sounds like she's happy, though," he finally said, voice quiet, and this? This sucked, and it had been a really bad idea. He should have said he didn't feel well, or that he had to get home to... whatever. Instead, he was sitting in a coffee shop with Rodney fucking McKay, contemplating the fact that, really, he'd just kind of stopped trying twelve years or so ago. That what he wanted (for Rodney to have lost that edge of brilliance or for him to have turned into some kind of weird frog-faced not-Rodney) and what actually was... well. It just wasn't working out so well in his head. 

Rodney was still good looking, still Rodney. "Look, uh. I have no idea if this is a good idea or a bad idea, but I've missed you. You were always... great. And I know I fucked it up. I didn't really have much by way of choices, but I could have..." Rodney waved his cup, and stuffed the last of the pound cake into his mouth, stalling for time, John knew. "My commander always says I'm an arrogant bastard, and I don't think about people, and I've gotten better, but Sam's right in a lot of ways."

For a moment, John waited to hear what else he was going to say, but even McKay changed with time. He was sitting there, obviously churning away at something behind those bright blue eyes. "You've always been an arrogant bastard, Rodney," John finally said, turning his coffee cup between his hands. "And you used to be petty and really bad with people, too." Never bad with John, though. Things between them had been great, right up until they hadn't been.

"So, uh. I was wondering if you'd mind if we, uh, kept in contact now. I mean, we both live here, same city..."

Was McKay suggesting they be available to one another for... what, booty calls? "I can't decide if you mean that honestly or if that's the absolute worst proposition anybody's ever made to me. And believe me, I've had some pretty bad ones."

"I've probably made worse." Rodney shrugged it, still peering at John, waiting. Waiting for John to come up with some kind of coherent answer to... something John never actually expected to hear. But, John was probably a safe bet, if Rodney was dodging DADT. "I've missed you. You were always a good friend, a good..."

"Fuck?" It was crass, and pretty much true, John figured. "Did you miss me, or getting laid?"

"... Do you see what I meant about being the biggest queen I knew?" Rodney sank down a little in his seat, and sipped at his coffee. "If I wanted to get laid, I could. But I missed you. The fact that I still feel something for you after this long is... pretty telling."

"Well excuse me if I'm having a hard time getting over being left flat, Rodney!" Even though, okay, yeah. He pretty much still wanted Rodney. Things had been like that, and they still were, bitchiness and chemistry between them. "It's not like I don't have the right to be angry still."

"I'm not saying you don't. But I want to... maybe work on that." Rodney seemed like he was going to keep talking, but he stopped. "Not that this is an old junker of a car or anything. Even if it sounded like that was what I meant."

John thought about it, and he knew, really knew, what his answer was even before he bothered to voice it. "Okay." Okay because... well, he didn't know. That would involve thinking about feelings, and he kind of sucked at those.

They could work on them later, or not. Whatever. John wasn't going to pitch a fit then, it could wait until he found Rodney's smelly socks under his sofa, because John had no doubt that boot-feet were a horrifying smell. "Just hear me -- wait. You... actually agreed, huh."

"You were expecting me not to? When it gives me so many more opportunities to bitch about you?"

"It's a good thing that I sort of like it." More than sort of, and Rodney said it while he wiggled his eyebrows at John in a way that was sort of hot and kind of unappealing at the same time because it was very ninth grade. Then again, they'd always kind of been like that.

"Drink your soy mocha, McKay," he murmured. Then, just when Rodney had a mouth full, he asked, "Your place, or mine?"

Rodney couldn't have gotten too hard assed, because he still did a partial spit-take, a good old fashioned spit-choke that made John's smirk slide wider on his face. "Yours, it's closer and also if you're already home your assistant won't kill me."

"Yeah. You know, she's a black belt in one of those really scary martial arts, the kind like you see in Bruce Lee movies. You don't have me back on time, she'll rip off your head in lieu of a pumpkin." He was scrounging in his pocket for his keys, though, because he wasn't parked far from where they were, anyway.

The easiest would be if Rodney followed him. Of course, it would give Rodney the opportunity to run away and not actually follow him, but if he pulled that shit then John just needed to write Rodney McKay off for good, the way he should have done already. "Yeah, I regularly fail in hand to hand. Fail miserably."

That was pretty disturbing, too. On the other hand? Also kind of hot. John had dated a guy who did a lot of tae kwon do in one of his fits of feeling like he needed to assert how very over McKay he was. It had been a disaster, but Lloyd had been really incredibly... bendy. "I'm parked down the street, near the book store. You?"

"Same. We might as well polish off the coffee on the way to go." And it was good that John liked the taste of coffee, because if things went well he was going to be getting coffee flavored kisses. Just, not in public, because Rodney had turned to the dark side. But Rodney stood up, and seemed to be waiting politely for John to lead the way.

This was either the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life or... Okay, yeah, it was probably going to prove to be the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life, but he was doing it.

John stood up and headed for the door, Rodney right behind him. He'd just have to see what kind of disaster they actually made of things.

It might all go to hell, or it might just... work. At the least, it would be something he could eventually work into a story, which would make him a bastard but at least a productive one. Rodney was a half a step behind him for a few feet, until they got away from people a little, and then he fell into step with John.

They were doing this. They were going to do this, and God, he was an idiot. Or a bastard. Or both. "I'm over in Skyway," he said finally, quietly. Things felt weird and off and John hadn't been so hot for anybody else in all his life. Dammit. "Once we get out of here, just keep me in sight. Otherwise..." John dug into his pocket again, pulled out his wallet and one of his cards. "My cell's on here."

"You shouldn't answer it while you're driving." Yeah, and Rodney was in the Air Force and went on missions, which was just insane for him to be worried about something so mundane. He probably drove a huge cast-iron car, too. He'd always had a land-yacht in college, too.

"Yeah, yeah." John, on the other hand, still had a huge love for things that went very fast, and the funds these days to actually indulge in that love. He had a BMW 650i in black that still made him a little shivery to think about. "Just try to keep up, McKay."

"Speed demon," Rodney muttered, fishing his keys one handed out of his pocket with a jangling noise while they edged into the parking lot, Rodney heading towards the back of it and veering a little towards whatever it was he drove, and okay, John's curiosity was piqued, because he was sure that Rodney envied his car.

John got close to his car and thumbed the start button, reaching for the handle as the car thrummed to life before he was even inside it. John had serious lust for his own car, so he was pretty much dying of curiosity to see what Rodney was going to be driving.

He pulled out of the space and headed for the front of the parking lot and waited before pulling out into the street.

There was a boxy looking Benz following him at what John gauged to be a hysterically safe stopping distance that was just inviting someone to try to squeeze their subcompact into the space. But it was definitely following him, so John stopped checking the rearview mirror as he drove the familiar route to his home with his ex-boyfriend of a decade ago following him. There was something strange and less than poetic about the moment, because that ranked up there on the list of 'shit people were never supposed to inflict on themselves'. He'd always imagined that if he met Rodney again he'd have snappy comeback after snappy comeback and he'd crush his will to live with wit, because he was the writer and Rodney had never been any better with words about emotions than John had ever been with the emotions themselves.

The fact that he'd said yes was what separated fantasy from reality and made everything more than a little surreal. John hadn't ever intended to really do anything like that. He hadn't figured he'd ever run into Rodney again, much less have anything like this going on. This being going back to his place, probably to do something stupid like get naked and have hot angry sex.

They'd always been good at the hot sex, and pretty good at the angry sex, too. Nothing was hotter than make-up sex when they were both still a little pissed.

Makeup sex after twelve plus years of pissed off had to be fantastic, or John was going to be even more pissed off at Rodney. 

At least he knew he wouldn't have to worry about Rodney mocking his decorating scheme. If McKay's sense of style had gotten any better since college and that one really tacky Star Wars poster, John would give Rodney his place to play interior decorator with to his heart's content.

He pulled onto Eighth street, glancing back to check and see if Rodney was still behind him or not. He could see the square headlights behind him and he took that for McKay being able to keep up with him.

It wasn't that far back to his place; it was only a few miles, even if traffic was usually a pain in the ass. Everything was pretty clear for the night, so Rodney didn't have any trouble keeping up with him. By the time he made it to Orion Drive, McKay had closed the uber-safe driving distance between them, mostly because John was pretty fast no matter where he was going.

By the time John pulled into his driveway, Rodney pulled his car up into it, too, coasting, engine already idling down. So, he definitely hadn't chickened out, and that was good to know. Kind of.

The garage door opened with the push of a button, and John drove inside, leaving enough space for Rodney's blocky Mercedes to pull up next to him.

He didn't know why he was offering Rodney garage space for a car like that, but a guy couldn't judge. Rodney pulled in nice and tight beside him, but no scratches, and John's mind was already dwelling on nice and tight while Rodney shut his car off.

Rodney's ass had always been a thing of beauty, and it still was, really. John just wasn't sure how Mr. Military was going to feel about getting fucked these days, and, hey. While it wasn't his thing nearly as much as it was Rodney's, John didn't mind getting it good now and then.

He really hoped good was going to be the operative term.

Good. Either way, he hoped it was good. Rodney locked his car, and pocketed his keys, smiling at John. "So, uh..."

"C'mon in," John invited, leading Rodney to the mudroom door and slipping the keys in. It only took a moment to go in and turn off the alarm, shutting and locking the door behind them once McKay was inside. "Sorry if it seems a little paranoid," he apologized, and reset the alarm to register that they were moving around in the house. "There've been a couple of... incidents."

"No, I can imagine. If you're that popular, people probably... go looking for you sometimes. Anyway, you have a nice place..." Rodney paused to knock off dirt from his shoes, not that John thought there was any. "I, uh."

And then he was on John, pushing him up against the washing machine and kissing him hard.

John didn't have any urge to protest. Frankly, kissing Rodney was damnably like he remembered: hot and urgent and desperate and horny. He managed to squirm himself up onto the machine and used his legs to pull Rodney closer. "Jesus, McKay."

"Missed you, missed you like, like..." Like no words at all, because it was lips against lips again, the swipe of tongue against the parting of John's mouth, and hands down at John's waist, grasping, clutching, pulling at his wrinkled blue shirt and getting him undressed.

John wanted to say something, wanted to be a bitch about it. He didn't have the time for that, though, not with Rodney's hands on him, square and competent, stripping off his shirt and getting into his pants before John could do much more than fumble with Rodney's own. "Fuck, fuck, like, yes, I..."

"God, so hot." Hot, yeah, he was hot, and Rodney was trailing his mouth down John's neck, kissing at the top of his shoulder, leaning into John bodily, with his impossible to get off shirt and his pants with the complicated belt and he had John sitting on the top of the washing machine with his dick hard enough to agitate drapes.

"Seriously, fuck, yes, but we could, I, there's a bed for Christ's sake, McKay," John mumbled, kicking off his shoes into the pile of clothing accumulating on the floor. The washing machine wasn't good for sex; John's skin was sticking to it, and seriously, Rodney had always been a complete pussy about his skin.

If Rodney could be a big baby, John could be just as bad about his ass sliding all over cold metal. One solid hand squeezed his left asscheek, and Rodney stepped back, taking a couple of deep breaths while he popped the top few buttons of his shirt. "Right, sorry. I just, uh. You."

"Yeah. Drove you to mad acts of passion." John was only a little sarcastic about it as he squirmed down from the washing machine, grimacing at the feel of it. "C'mon."

Rodney shrugged out of his shirt, and left it on the floor with John's. "Sorry. You're just... still you. You should be flattered. If I were your washing machine, I'd uh, no that actually sounded bad, never mind."

Still him, the him Rodney had left behind without a backwards glance, and he really wanted to be bitter. He did, and he was probably going to think about it a hell of a lot more than he should, but what the hell. "Yeah. I'm still me." Still John, and he leaned in to kiss Rodney again.

His glasses were getting fogged up where they weren't smudged from pressing against skin, and he'd take them off except stumbling along with fogged smudged lenses was a million times better than the big blobs of color he got without them.

"C'mon," he cajoled again, and tugged loose from Rodney to pull him out of the mudroom and into the warmth of the kitchen. It wasn't far from there to the bedroom, but kissing Rodney kind of distracted him from getting where he was going.

It was going to be slow going, too, because Rodney leaned in, had a hand on his side, and leaned down to kiss his shoulder again. "I'm sorry. You're. God, I'm an idiot. Irresistible."

Rodney was still full of shit, but that was all right. John could live with that, especially when Rodney moved up, nuzzled into his throat and made him pant. Fuck, fuck, that felt so good, and he brought both hands up and slid them into the short blond-brown strands of Rodney's hair and tugged.

Rodney groaned, and pushed him forwards, which was one step closer to the bedroom where he could at least get Rodney naked. He was already at a disadvantage in the nudity sector, and he seriously hoped Rodney didn't have any silly ideas about what it might or might not mean.

Knowing McKay, he probably did. Right at the moment, John really didn't give a damn. All he cared about was getting Rodney closer with each step, getting his hands into those crazy cargo pants of his, one way or another.

"Don't tell me your bedroom is up stairs," Rodney sighed against his mouth. He pushed his ass back against John's hands. "Here, hold on, I can get out of these right here if that's what you want."

Yes. That was exactly what he wanted. "My bedroom? Yeah, but the guest room's just this way." And it was close enough, with a bed that was a hell of a lot bigger than either of the beds in their dorm room had been, and without the crack in the center they got when they pushed them together.

Rodney had always bitched about the crack in the center, but he'd gotten his dick stuck in it the once so it was sort of understandable. And hysterical to think about while Rodney unfastened his belt with the speed of familiarity. "Great. I don't think stairs would..."

"Yeah, no, not right now." Definitely not now. They'd be moving fast enough that they'd stumble, considering past history, and that could only be bad. "This way." Through the kitchen and right, into the guest suite. He had his hands on Rodney's waistband, tugging at the button and zipper and getting them undone with a twist of his fingers.

It was worth it to hear Rodney groan again, low in his throat, an old familiar sound while he shifted his hips to help. "It's been too long. Too too long, I've missed having someone else do this, you."

Someone else probably wasn't that specific, not really. John didn't care, fuck, he didn't, not when he had Rodney's hand on his ass and he had hot cock thick in his palm. "God, yeah."

He was past underwear and all he had to do was push it all down and Rodney would be naked and, oh, shit, was there lube in the guest room? There had to be lube in the guest room because Rodney reached back to help shove his own pants down and one of them was going to need it. Didn't matter which one to John, so long as somebody was getting fucked.

"Here, here." John pushed him into the room finally, finally, and they made their stumbling way across the floor and to the bed. He shoved Rodney a little, and McKay tumbled back onto the bed.

Rodney threw him a grin, and stretched out on the mattress, legs spread a little, striking a pose as best as Rodney ever had been able to. It was to a lot better effect than John remembered, that dorky funny motion, with Rodney folding his arms behind his head, because he had muscle now, and his shoulders were wider, and his thighs were solid. "Jesus, McKay." Jesus, because it was ridiculously like something out of a porn mag, lacking the six pack. Rodney wasn't exactly soft in that area, but...

John crawled in after him, settled beneath Rodney's legs and leaned up to kiss him. "Jesus."

His dick was still hard, and Rodney shifted, hunched up and slid an arm behind John's shoulders while he kissed John back. The play of tongue was there again, sliding, looking for John's, not too wet, not too sloppy, just right. It damn well should have been right, he'd spent enough time teaching Rodney how to kiss.

That was just one of the things that made this hotter than anything he'd had since, really. Rodney knew, knew everything. He knew where to touch John, how to slide his fingers down the indention of John's spine, knew that John hated not being able to see once his glasses were off, and he wouldn't bitch when John closed his eyes to block out the fat blurs of color.

He didn't try to take John's glasses off, didn't pet his face and say he was sexier without them, had only suggested John get contacts once, and that had been after John had busted his glasses and been told it would take a week to get replacement lenses in and that was Right Fast In A Hurry. Rodney let a hand idle low on John's spine, other hand still hooked over his shoulders.

That alone was good for John, never mind how they fogged up. He loved getting to actually see during sex, and Rodney knew that. That was another thing he'd loved, and he kissed him one last time and then nipped his way down Rodney's neck and down to his chest.

Hardly hairy at all, which had always been hysterical, just pale skin and stray strands that John felt brush his lips as he shifted down. "John, John, you're, fuck, so hot..."

So hot, yeah, and so was McKay because his nipples were perking up, and John loved those. He'd almost forgotten, but getting his lips on them again was just... Yeah, memory was perfectly accurate there. The pebble of it on his tongue made John reach out and pinch the other delicately.

It was like putting an old coat back on, pulling it over his shoulders and settling in, because sex with Rodney was apparently just like his favorite leather jacket. Rodney's fingers traced symbols on his shoulder blades, and he shifted, drawing one leg up. "Huh. You're trying to drive me crazy so you can fuck me, aren't you?"

"Is it working?" John grinned, and it felt bright and feral. He didn't really care one way or the other. As much as he loved Rodney's ass, he had a pretty equal love affair with his cock, so he wouldn't care if Rodney wanted to fuck him, either.

"Yeah. It's just, uh. Been a while, is all. Just to warn you." Rodney shifted his hips, hard cock bumping against John's stomach, and his hands were idling on John's shoulders, half massaging.

John smirked, pressed his lips to the center of Rodney's chest. "Yeah, well. Worst thing that can happen is you can come twice." It wouldn't be the first time, either, and John shifted to the side of him, then, looking at Rodney from beneath his lashes. "I'm guessing that wouldn't bother you."

"Not particularly. I think I can still do this twice." Rodney shifted, stretched his hand out, and let thick fingers curl in John's hair. "Is that your dick on my leg?"

"Uh-huh." Yeah, and his hand stroking over Rodney's belly. He remembered it as concave, back when there was barely enough Rodney to find if he turned sideways. "That'd be my dick. On your leg."

Now it had filled out, nice and solid, and it rose and fall with Rodney's breaths like he was ticklish. "Yeah. That's a pretty good sign. You still know how to..."

"Oh, yeah. It's not like I enlisted, McKay. Authors are allowed to fuck whoever they like, whenever they like, and pretty much wherever we won't get arrested."

"Damned UMCJ," Rodney sighed. "It's not like I'm robbing a bank, or selling bits of my uniform or government secrets, and oh, god, that, that right there..." Just over the edge of his ribs and probably into a slightly ticklish spot, John was close enough that he could have seen skin without glasses, eyes crossed with the attempt to focus just then, but there was a dip in the skin, a ridge. Scarring, huh. It still made Rodney squirm.

Jesus. People shot at Rodney, and that was quite possibly the stupidest waste of a brilliant mind John could ever imagine. "Right there?" John asked, stroking his fingers over that place again, slow and easy.

"Ticklish spot," Rodney agreed, shifting. "It's funny how when you do it right it just adds to everything else."

Everything else being John, rocking slowly into Rodney's thigh and wondering if there was lube in the guest room or not. "I plan on doing it all right." All of it, and he was going to have to get up and search the place, or run upstairs one.

Rodney was quiet, all tiny humming noises and shifting restless hands before he declared. "You don't actually know if you have lube or condoms down here, do you?"

"Yeah, well, I was just thinking about that." It was the main reason John had backed off, let things idle down from hot and heavy. He was clean, and the military probably kept McKay clean, but syphilis and gonorrhea was the kind of thing that came between people in ways joining the Air Force probably didn't quite touch.

He couldn't forgive an STD, and they could work things out better later, if it ever happened again, which it might not, and John started to stand up slowly. Rodney leaned back, let John move, and stretched. "I could help you find it."

"Upstairs?" John offered, shifting his hand to rub at the groove of Rodney's hip. "I know I have those things there."

"If you want to keep things here, I can just stretch out here and enjoy your mattress," Rodney offered, careful of new boundaries that hadn't been there before Rodney had fucked it all up.

It was a good point, really. John wasn't sure how he felt about McKay in his personal space. On the other hand... "The bed's a lot bigger." Wider, with more than enough space for them to roll around or get athletic if the urge struck.

"I suppose I can get up." Rodney shifted, squirmed to get up, moving lazily. That was hot, the slow stretch of muscle, and Rodney moving around naked with that kind of ease. Well, at least around him, but he'd always sort of been comfy with naked. They hadn't exactly worried about who was wearing clothes and who wasn't in their rooms. Ever.

"Good." Good, and they were still hard, both of them, but the slowing down, that was going to be good, too. It was going to be enough, and John moved after him, sliding out on the same side of the bed. It should have been awkward. It should have been worse than awkward, but it was a lot like falling into old habits, or comfortable jeans. "C'mon."

John's fantasies of it being a nice, easy, simple bad one night stand were starting to go up in fizzles of smoke. "It's my pleasure," Rodney answered, voice too happy, too close to crowing while he reached to touch John again.

This? This was stupid. The epitome of stupid, even, because he didn't need Rodney back in his life. Rodney was trouble from start to finish, the kind of trouble that broke his heart once and made his life... well, a lot better than it probably would have been as a math professor, actually. He should probably be thanking Rodney instead of bitching at him.

"It's this way." He took Rodney's hand and tugged him towards the hall.

The worst part was that Rodney seemed to be free of any internal struggle over what to do with the state of their ex-relationship and what they were doing just then. "You're more gorgeous than ever."

"I'm surprised you're still interested." Surprised he hadn't switched to just women, because Rodney had always had a thing for blondes with big boobs and big intellects. "Considering." The stairs were full of some rather unpleasant bouncing, but what the hell.

"Considering...?" Rodney was going to make him spell it out as they walked up the stairs, while Rodney let a hand idle to John's ass.

"Considering stupid blondes with big tits are more what's in with your job."

"You say that as if one of the Colonels I work for isn't supremely gay, but no one asks and he doesn't tell. They've both been married, which is probably the best cover ever. Anyway, the only blond I know is medium boobed and very smart, and I've known her for too long, which just... Loses something."

Yeah, John would just bet. He didn't bother saying anything, though; just pulled Rodney after him until they reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right and into his bedroom.

This was better than downstairs. The bed was king-sized and sprawling, and John knew for a fact that there were condoms and lube in the nightstand drawer. He tugged, and Rodney came, so that he was sprawled on top of John by the time they were firmly in John's bed.

The bed felt just right, too, familiar sheets that probably smelled like him, but it wasn't like that would make Rodney uncomfortable. "Yeah, your place is a lot nicer than mine. I'll still have to bring you over to chez cramped sometime."

As if it was just a foregone conclusion that this wasn't going to be a one-time thing, as if it might be real. He decided not to ask; instead, he reached up, slid his fingers into the short strands of Rodney's hair, and pulled him down to kiss him again.

Kiss him and pull him back down, and the way Rodney pinned John in place, it made him more determined that they were getting laid somehow. It was just a question of whose ass was fair game. Frankly, John didn't care which.

He sprawled himself open, let Rodney slide against him slow and easy, less frantic than they had been before. Now it just seemed delicious, and right, and about a dozen other things. "Oh. Yeah."

Rodney exhaled, squirmed his hips against John's, and let his hands idle down John's sides with familiarity. Right over his ribs, fiddling lazily there before stretching over his flat belly. "So. How do you want to do this?"

"I dunno. You got a preference?" John asked him, pushing up slow and easy into Rodney's hip. He drew in a breath, the faint tickle of Rodney's touch making him squirm.

"You. You're my preference." Rodney smiled, and he kissed John again, slow and lazy as good as fast and hot and up on the washing machine. There was still a lot of tongue, all reaching for John, and John let him. He'd missed this, kissing someone who knew how he liked to be kissed, and somehow he reached up between them, closed his eyes and pulled off his glasses. He didn't need to see anything for now, not really, not if things were going the way he thought they would.

It was a sign to Rodney, and he wasn't going to ask again what was going on and how John wanted it, because John had taken his glasses off, didn't need to see. He could feel it when Rodney kissed his chin, his cheeks, and he could feel it and hear the bed squeak when Rodney leaned up over him to pull open the drawer of the bedside table.

Old habits died hard, so of course Rodney knew where everything was. He scrabbled in the drawer, and John figured he wasn't going to worry about the other things in there until McKay asked about them later. For now, he just let Rodney touch him while he found one of the condoms, and the push-top bottle John kept there.

With his eyes closed, everything rippled, echoed, folded in on itself. John imaged that if he ever lost his eyesight entirely, he could cope because a lot of his world was already wallowing in sound and touch. That he could trust Rodney to keep that touch intense and easy while he fiddled was.... something that made a knot twist in his gut. He could think about it some other time, when Rodney wasn't gently nudging him to twist onto his stomach.

He moved, rolling out from under Rodney and sprawling, arms spread wide, legs open to make it easier. He hadn't liked this as much when they were kids, but he wanted to remember this tomorrow. He wanted to wince when he sat down even if McKay booked it as soon as the sex was over. He wanted to think about it when he wasn't sex-fuzzed and blind.

Contemplate it, mull it over. Part of him was expecting the cold of lube, the feel of fingers in his ass right away. John wasn't really expecting Rodney to shift, sitting awkwardly on the backs of his thighs before h e leaned forwards to start rubbing at John's shoulders.

Huh.

John sighed and kept his eyes closed, kept himself loose beneath Rodney's touch. He let it go on for a few minutes before he said, "You know, you don't have to do this."

"You're tense, first off, and second, it helps me relax. Also, I enjoy looking at your back." And sliding his thumbs over that tight spot just beneath John's shoulder blades. God, that felt good, and John gave a faint grunt of acknowledgement because it wasn't like he was stupid enough to protest more than once. Rodney's hands were... well, he'd always loved to watch them, but feeling them was pretty amazing, too. Just shifting, slouching down into his pillow, and letting Rodney massage away at tension spots slowly. It wasn't like he hit the one spot and just stopped, satisfied, no, he worked his way down John's back slowly, scooting down, still hard while he did it.

"Jesus, Rodney." His voice was a little slurred, whether with passion or the relaxation of that touch, John wasn't really sure. "You're...." He wanted to ask, but he wasn't going to. It wasn't like it mattered, the reason that Rodney was doing it this way. It felt good, and that should be plenty.

But he was a writer, and there was a small, no, fuck it, loud part of his brain that wanted to know. Wanted to know why Rodney was kneading easy fingers and then the meat of his palms against the small of John's back while he bowed in to kiss his shoulderblades. Maybe he was really sorry. Maybe he was a headcase now and he was going to lull John into safety, fuck him long and good, and then snap his neck.

Okay, no, not really, because Rodney had always been squeamish about mousetraps, but still. John obviously wasn't thinking, and when Rodney's thumbs dug into a spot on either side of his spine where the tension was practically rooted, John couldn't keep himself from moaning and pushing his hips into the mattress. It was in hopes of an escape, or maybe it just felt that good. He couldn't tell.

If he got a massage like that just once in a while, just once in a blue moon, it'd do wonders for his back. Then Rodney's hands slipped and one palmed his left asscheek, and that was fine because for all of his wonderings, John was feeling mellow. He hadn't ever figured that they'd do this again, be like this again, and he was probably crazy. Okay, very crazy, because how many people fell in bed with their exes twelve years after the fact? Thirteen. Whatever. He didn't know, but when Rodney let his thumb trace the crease of John's ass, John sure as hell didn't plan on protesting.

He spread his legs, let Rodney just run a dry thumb slowly down the cleft, over his asshole, down to his balls, and then it pulled away, and if it was going to come back it needed to come back with lube.

The faint snick of the top pushing down and into place sounded, and John let out a slow sigh because, yeah. Yeah, that was just right, just the right sound, and the little whiffy squee that sounded before the lube came out was familiar enough. He needed to pick up some more, but he could worry about that later. At the moment, Rodney was still touching him, and when that thumb did come back, it was coated with warm slickness that made John moan and shift beneath Rodney's touch.

"You'll tell me if I'm going too fast." It wasn't even a question, because Rodney was slowly shifting that thumb, spreading around enough lube so he could push it into John slowly. Nice and slow, and when he did, John couldn't stop the low moan that worked its way out of him. It wasn't like he never did this, even if it was just on his own. It was that they had so rarely done it, and Rodney was changed now, those deft hands just as broad and capable as they always had been, and yeah, John really had a thing for them.

He spread himself a little further and breathed out through his nose, drawing in a deep unsteady breath. "Fuck, yes."

Rodney shifted, moved his body position so he was kneeling between John's legs instead of straddling, or at least that was what it felt like to John, because he could feel knees between his thighs while that thumb slowly pushed in and out.

"Fuuuck," John groaned again, because Rodney was opening him up slow with just that thumb, and he had to rock back to meet it, to feel the press of Rodney's hand meeting where his thumb slid into John.

"Oh, yeah. The last time we did this..." So damn long ago and Rodney had been fumbling and too fast and too desperate, which happened. It happened, and John had wanted it just as bad, maybe even as much as he wanted it now. They were older now, though, and more in control of themselves, maybe. This was slow and good and Jesus, Rodney was shifting, moving, and his thumb came out so that two fingers could move in.

John wanted to curse again, but instead he drew in a deep breath and shuddered.

Shuddered and just enjoyed it, the feeling of two fingers delving into his ass and then pulling out, and then pushing back in, nice and slow, agonizingly slow when John wanted to be pounded down into the mattress.

"Would you just fuck me?" Preferably before he did something stupid like beg for it instead of just asking.

Rodney laughed, and leaned in, and John felt another kiss press against his spine. "Okay. Okay. I, uh. Just hold on while I get the condom on."

He could wait that long, and the kiss lingering against his back certainly didn't hurt that thought. It was weird, should be weird, but it was also familiar. John heard the crinkle and then the sound of latex slicking over hard flesh. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling a pillow into his arms and shifting into a comfortable waiting position.

Rodney stayed kneeling between his legs, at least for the moment, and John felt the fingers of one hand pry at his ass cheeks, pulling it gently to the side, and more lube applied, lukewarm, before Rodney shifted to finally, finally put it in.

Put it in. He. It'd be funny, thinking of it like that, if he didn't want it so much. Rodney was blanketing him, broader than he had been, and pushing, and fuck, fuck, that burned a little, but it also felt amazing. He didn't do this, not without trusting somebody, and John mostly didn't trust people. He wasn't ready to consider the implications of that, either, so he just moaned and pushed back.

Pushed back, felt Rodney's hipbones press hard against his ass, and Rodney shift, squirming a little, moving his legs, but it was slow and careful and still blanketing John, not moving to pull John up to his knees or anything, just pushing his hips down. John could feel his face flushing, and he hunched his shoulders, breathing through it and spreading his thighs wider. He cursed quietly, because God, it was good, and the feel of Rodney's hand curling around his bicep made him shudder.

Tight fingers, just an easy clutch, and the feeling of Rodney's other hand weaseling between John and the mattress when Rodney rocked his hips back minutely. "John, you, fuck, missed this, I missed you."

The overwhelming urge to ask why he'd just left was huge, but the getting fucked part was too good. It was too good to say anything and make it stop, and so what if his eyes stung behind his lids?

So what.

Rodney was palming John's stomach, palming his dick. He let go of John's bicep, braced his hand against the mattress, shifted his hips and oh, fuck. Fuck, that was it, just the way John liked it, rubbing down and in and he could feel the desperate heat working its way through him.

"Oh, God, yeah." Yeah, and he was pushing against Rodney's hand now, a steady writhing squirm that got the dick inside him deeper and deeper, and it was all he could do not to sob.

Down and in and in and back out and a little to the side and fuck that felt good, it all felt good to John because there was a palm over his dick, starting to jerk him off nice and lazy.

"Jesus, Rodney." Jesus, this was good in ways he couldn't begin to describe, and yeah, this was very different than the way things used to be. "Fuuuuck, who taught you this?" So he could be jealous and angry later, but really grateful right at the moment.

"'S a long story. Sometime later." Rodney gave one more shift, changed angles again, and John saw sparks behind his eyelids, bursts of color and tendrils because Rodney was finally starting to move faster, and all John could do was gasp and try to shift, move until he was pushing back to meet Rodney's hips. He was groaning into the pillow now, fucking his hips forward against Rodney's hand, and God. Damn. He couldn't remember ever having it this good, this perfect, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he was so close.

So close that he could feel it coming, feel his balls go tight and the backs of his thighs tense and quiver, and then he could only rock and rock in counterpoint to Rodney grinding his hips down, kissing his back again, groaning against his skin, all touch and sound and no sight needed, especially not when the world burst into light behind his eyes.

John came so hard he was pretty sure he was right next to blacking out, because by the time he pulled himself together enough to register anything else, Rodney was giving a last few short, sharp thrusts and making some pretty impressive sounds against John's back. John didn't mind. His entire body felt loose and exhausted, tired down to his bones.

He felt looped and groggy when Rodney finally went still, shifting to slouch off of John and to his side. His hands still lingered, idling against John's hip with just enough pressure to tug lightly at skin when his hand moved.

It was good. God, it was the best sex he'd had in... Yeah, okay. Since they'd broken up, and maybe it hadn't been completely Rodney's fault. John had wondered on occasion what it might have taken to talk him out of it, but he hadn't done much more than bitch, so.

He sighed and shifted the pillow further towards the head of the bed, shifting one of his legs into a cooler spot inches away. "Guh." Well. He'd never been coherent after orgasm before. Why start now?

"I should get up. Find a towel or something. Trash can." Place to put the condom, right, but that involved moving and or opening his eyes, and Rodney moving off of John.

"'sotherside," John mumbled, slurred together. He had a small waste basket there, and if Rodney really wanted to, he was welcome to get up and find it, but John kind of hoped he didn't. He didn't care if it ended up on the floor and they were cleaned up with the corner of a sheet as long as he could luxuriate there.

And maybe get under the covers.

He felt Rodney move away from him finally, and John gave a slow sigh, snuggling deeper into his pillow because his brains were, frankly, made of oatmeal right about now. Rodney got that, it seemed, because he didn't poke John or expect him to talk. That was good, and when he felt Rodney wiping him clean, that was better. It only took a minute (or ten, John wasn't exactly timing it, and he might have dozed off in there) before McKay was back in the bed, curling around him, and John really did fall asleep then.

* * *

There was a light on somewhere.

It had sort of filtered into his subconscious and was now gnawing at his conscious, because it felt like oh, fuck, too early in the morning and he wanted to mug onto his pillow, but there was a light on somewhere downstairs.

Apparently Rodney was making himself a sandwich before he made a run for himself. Or something. It was kind of funny, because John had figured he'd be running before John was actually unconscious, which never took long after he'd been fucked stupid.

He managed to move himself into a more comfortable position, burying his head under the covers for a couple of minutes before the rummaging sounds became too annoying to ignore any longer. When that happened, John cursed and moved to the edge of the bed, flinging back the covers and stumbling for the bathroom. Even if Rodney was cleaning him out downstairs or something bizarre, he still had to pee. It wasn't as if whatever was going on downstairs would get any less weird if he didn't stop to pee first.

The light of the bathroom was too bright, too clean for that early in the morning, and when John stumbled past his bed, the alarm clock seemed to be flashing 4:45 in angry numbers. He wasn't accustomed to seeing those numbers from the waking up side, which made him even grumpier as he grabbed for pajama bottoms and somehow managed to squirm into them before wandering out of the bedroom and down the stairs, trying to rub a little bit of awake into his face.

It never seemed to work but that wasn't going to stop John from trying.

"Oh, hey. Did I wake you up?" That was Rodney's voice from the kitchen, a little startled, pitched towards a miserably ineffective whisper. He was standing in John's kitchen, with the ironing board out and the iron out, and clothes underneath of the iron at 4:45 in the morning.

John wasn't even remotely human at 4:45 in the morning.

"What the fuck are you doing?" John asked, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. There was coffee made, and it smelled pretty blissful. If he drank any, he'd be awake, though, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

He sort of wanted to go crawl into bed again, and drag Rodney with him. "Getting ready to go into work. I had a spare uniform in the back of my car and I figured I could iron the wrinkles out and still get to work on time."

"McKay." John figured he should clarify things. "Do you know what time it is? It's not going to take you three hours to get back to... wherever."

"Actually, we're heading out at 0630, and I need to pack my gear up when I get back to the base before we turn around to head out." Rodney shifted his uniform, pressed the collar out slowly.

Great. Military time. Maybe he should be grateful for the whole morning thing, except for the part where he wasn't.

John opened his mouth to tell McKay that he was going back to bed, but he surprised himself when he actually spoke. "Want breakfast before you go?"

"Oh, uh. Sure. Thanks. I didn't mean to make this much noise with the iron, but your place is really... neat. Tidy? I think tidy's the word I'm looking for."

Of course it was tidy. Amy made sure John had somebody to come over and keep it that way when he was writing and making messes without cleaning them up. McKay couldn't know that, so John just grunted acknowledgement and dug eggs, cheese and milk out of the refrigerator, putting them on the island while he dug for the necessary items to make eggs. That was as good as it was going to get, and he figured he might as well drink the coffee. He was awake now, anyway.

It was going to make for a grumpy unproductive day, though, and John knew it. But he could do eggs, and McKay would eat them. He'd always had a thing for scrambled eggs, and it was probably healthy for him. Or not, but it was what John could cook on short notice, so.

It didn't take long to get everything thrown together, and Rodney was still ironing, so he opened the fridge again and scowled at it until he found half of a tomato and some bell pepper and onions that he'd used a couple of nights before. "You still eat anything that isn't citrus?" he asked sleepily.

"Yep. If it won't kill me, I'm pretty happy about it," Rodney murmured, bent over the ironing board. It was a view to be appreciated, in any case, even if he was barely awake enough to be allowed to handle the stove.

John cracked eggs into a bowl and added a dash of milk, tossing in cheese and some of the peppers and onions before he reached for a knife to dice tomatoes into it. "So. You're gonna be gone...?" It made John curious, at least a little, because... Okay. They'd fucked, and maybe that was something that allowed him to ask that question. Probably. Maybe McKay wouldn't want to see him again after he left, and then John would feel pretty damn stupid, among other things.

"Should be three days. It's a diaper run. I get to fix some engines, the colonel smiles at everyone, and hopefully it all goes well."

That sounded pretty damned boring, and it made John feel a little bit better, considering the whole thing where McKay obviously got shot at more often than John was comfortable knowing about. "Well. Have a good time?" He sprayed the pan before dumping the bowl into it, turning on the eye before reaching for salt and pepper. "Try not to get shot at."

"That's my personal goal in life," Rodney sighed, picking his uniform up off of the ironing board. "I'll be back."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that." Not that he thought I'll be back meant anything except milk run: back in one piece. Then again, he hadn't thought he'd run into McKay in Colorado Springs, or that Rodney would be wandering out of the kitchen towards John's half bath with his uniform clutched tight in his hands less than twelve hours later.

It was surreal, that Rodney had settled in that well, just gotten comfortable enough that he felt like borrowing John's iron. "Hey, uh, we should exchange phone numbers. I'll call you when I get back in town," Rodney called from the half bath.

John didn't really figure Rodney would, but he couldn't help the twinge of unexpected hopefulness that rested somewhere above his stomach and below his throat. "Yeah, we should do that." He was working on the eggs, and it wouldn't take long. Just a couple more minutes, so he turned the eye to low and went to get the loaf of bread for toast.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made John look up, catch sight of Rodney in his freshly pressed camo, which was... sort of silly. It was also really disturbingly hot in ways that John could appreciate. He was never confessing that flight suits made him kind of squirm.

Ever.

"Here. Put these in the toaster, would you?"

"Sure. Mmm, real food." Rodney loomed over John's shoulder for a moment before putting the bread in. "The cafeteria had to be closed last week after a health inspection."

That woke John up a little and left him blinking in the kitchen light. "That's, uh...."

"Depressing," Rodney finished, mouth curling into a wicked smile as he eyed John's toaster like he was expecting it to catch fire. Too many knobs and choices, probably, for Rodney's tastes. The Air Force had obviously turned him into a luddite.

"That... wasn't quite the word I was going for," John finally admitted, eyeballing the eggs and scrambling them around the pan a little more. "I was thinking more horrifying."

Rodney leaned his ass against the edge of the countertop, watching John. "Yeah, well. That, too. At least it wasn't space aliens laying eggs in the mashed potatoes, or anything that strange. Just mice."

John could tell he'd never really gotten over Aliens, especially with the whole egg thing. He turned off the stove and took the pan with him to shuffle for plates, halving the results of his insanely early morning cooking for each of them. "Well, I'd hate to think that it was any less healthy. At least it's a lot more likely."

"So do you work out of here every day? No charade of a downtown office?" Rodney was shadowing him, stopping long enough to get coffee.

"What's the point?" He scrounged up silverware, handing a fork to Rodney before heading to pour coffee of his own. "'s a tax deduction to have a home office anyway."

Rodney made a quiet 'huh' sound as he veered for the breakfast nook. It was usually flooded with sunlight, but now it was dark outside, and the windows were probably cold to the touch. Rodney was insane, being up that early. Insane to be up that early to iron what looked to John like Cargo pants. "I didn't know that."

He should. Christ, he should know things like that instead of having bullet scars, and for just a minute, John floundered. He almost didn't answer, but then he drew in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, it's just one of those things. 's why Amy's still working for me. She takes care of all that stuff. Reminds me that the stuff I buy to wear for interviews and things like last night are deductable." Which seemed silly, but hey. Every little bit helped.

He was making good money, but he also wanted to keep making good money and save and invest and just generally not fuck up what could possibly be a good luck streak before the world decided that he was no longer hip, he was actually an English teacher and just needed to know his place.

If it ever came to that, John figured he could go teach high school, and still have his fantastic house. "Huh. I get a stipend for my uniforms, but they don't last as long as the bean counters think they do. I wish I had someone to remind me what all of the stupid forms I've memorized the names for actually mean."

"You're traumatizing me here, McKay." John scowled and went to pluck the toast out of the toaster. "I'm the one that forgets stuff, not you." Rodney held grudges for a small eternity, too, mostly because he remembered everything.

"I forget useless things, John, you know that. I have the damndest time remembering the names of the civilians I work with, but if you need to know anything useful..." Rodney waved a fork in the air, and dug into his scrambled eggs. "Hey. You can still cook!"

"Like I'm going to forget that anytime soon." He reached for his coffee cup and sipped carefully, and yeah. Rodney still made the best coffee. One day, John would figure out how he did it. "So. Uh. Leave your number on the board there on the fridge. I'll scrounge up a card for you."

"Card. You have business cards." Rodney grinned against his fork, all constant motion, reaching for the coffee and sipping while he gulped down the scrambled eggs.

"Yeah, but I'll give you my personal number. If you want it." Now probably wasn't the best time to be feeling weirdly insecure, but John still did.

"I want it." Rodney gave him a funny look, scraping bits of scrambled eggs into a tower in the middle of his plate. "I've missed you."

Yeah, he kept saying that. It made John feel a little weird, because he'd been pissed at Rodney for, oh, ever, but... if he was honest, he'd missed McKay, too. "Yeah," he said finally, and maybe he was feeling a little stupidly hopeful.

Rodney smiled crookedly at him. "Next time, I'll try not to wake you up when I have to get up at ass o'clock in the morning. I'm glad you're doing so well, too. Even if it is fiction junk. Now I have to go through it looking for errors. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." Yeah, he knew that, because Rodney was kind of like that. "You're gonna hate the mathematician."

"Why?" Rodney was definitely waiting for an answer from him, tidying away the last of the scrambled eggs and starting to kill the toast.

"You remember Brendan." Yeah, it was hard to forget that guy. Rodney had hated that guy, mostly because he'd been seriously crushing on their professor and he hadn't been subtle.

"You modeled a mathematician after Brendan? How? I mean, does he count cocks as he sleeps his way through the system? What's the plot of this particular book, again?" Rodney leaned up on the table, and glanced at his wristwatch to make sure he had time to listen to John weave stories.

"No, see, there's a trick to it," John started, and leaned forward to explain, at least until Rodney had to go.

It was a lot like it used to be, and it was really kind of scary to know they could just go back to being themselves like that. John wasn't sure what that meant, or how it would work out, but he was sure of one thing.

It was worth it to see where it went.

* * *

Three days for some kind of milk run.

Two days of John trying to call the bastard, and McKay not bothering to pick up. He hadn't exactly left his address, or John probably would have egged the house.

Just because he was thirty-four didn't mean he didn't have the occasional juvenile urge to do something really stupid and pissy.

John took another pull on the beer bottle beside his grill and stabbed the steak a little harder.

Bastard, bastard, bastard.

He should have known. Sure, it was great for Rodney while he was there, but he got back to work and found out that he wasn't actually gay or allowed to be gay again, and fuck, fuck, he was probably popping Viagra just to get hard with a hooker somewhere because it wasn't like he couldn't find an easy slut in Colorado Springs for all of its facades. There were plenty, and Rodney was the kind of guy who'd know where to find them, that bastard.

"Uh, John? It's eleven am."

Huh. He hadn't actually noticed. "Seriously? I thought it was later." He took another swig, just to prove that he could, and looked across at Amy. "I've got potatoes in the oven. There's more beer in here." In the fridge next to the grill, anyway. John kept most of his liquor in the house, but the beer was better if it was cold and easily available while he grilled.

"Mmm, It's eleven," Amy said again, while she gave him the stink eye. "So, you've been in a mood for the last two days. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not so you'd notice." Mostly, he just wanted to keep right on being pissed off with McKay. It wasn't like it would help any, because it wasn't the first time. Hell, one thing he was sure of.

It'd be the last.

"You want some steak? There's another one in there."

"I might as well." She pulled up a lawn chair, and it scraped across the deck a little before she flopped down into it. "So, it was that military guy, wasn't it? It wasn't just a coffee night."

John reached down and dragged another beer out, walking over and handing it to her. "Yeah. It wasn't." He yawned and rubbed his eye. He hadn't been sleeping -- big surprise -- so his days and nights were kind of fucked up.

"I can call his commanding officer and out him if you want," Amy offered. It was hard to tell if she was serious about it or not. When he least expected it, she really meant whatever she was saying.

He reached back, rubbed the back of his head and gave a heavy sigh. "Thanks, but... no. It's not worth the effort."

"If you change your mind," she offered gently. "I'm serious. You're usually so calm and laid back because you don't have all of the personal drama the rest of us have."

John gave a laugh, and it sounded... yeah, not right. Not at all right. "Nah. I've just spent the last twelve years pissed off about the last drama. I shouldn't have bothered going with him. McKay's..." He waved a hand, and realized it was the one holding the grilling fork. "Drama waiting to happen."

"Was he your last drama?" She shifted, crossed her legs at the ankles. She probably had thirty thousand things he needed to do, because that was how it was sometimes, but clearly he was useless if he was non-functioning. Secretary, assistant, and therapist. He'd gotten a deal with her.

She knew him, top to bottom, though. "Yeah." He went back to the grill, eyeballing his steak. It was big enough to share, if she wanted. He probably wasn't actually going to eat it anyway. That was kind of how things had been, the last day or two. Pissed off, cooking, not eating, not sleeping.

So, knowing that, why the hell did he let McKay do this to him?

Why had he said yes, why had he taken McKay back into his arms, into his damn house, and probably in four or five weeks the asshole would show back up and pretend that he hadn't done a damn thing wrong. "So. Waiting for his call?"

John shot Amy a dirty look and stabbed his steak again. "Not so you would notice. I was thinking about having the number he left blocked." If that was even Rodney's number.

"Was it a cell phone he gave your or a house phone? Because I notice you're making steaks at eleven am, and drinking, and I'm used to seeing you in your study about this time." She at least threw him a smile when she said it.

"You keep coming back to that whole... eleven thing. If I haven't been sleeping, it's not like eleven means much of anything except another twelve hours with no sleep." John waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll hit a writing jag in a week or so and make up for the time lost to beer."

"I just hate seeing you all out of sorts like this." She leaned her elbow on the chair and added, "Anyway, you wouldn't be any more productive on a normal day at eleven. Reading the news, reading science journals, drinking coffee and daydreaming. I really can call this guy's commanding officer if you want."

John took a deep breath and pulled the steak off of the grill and onto the plate he'd left out for it. "No, yanno, there's a lot of things I'd like to do to Rodney? Including smacking him upside the head or maybe just kicking his ass? But that's just not on the list. Thanks all the same."

"Well, then you don't want to ruin his life. So, at least he didn't hurt you." Not physically, but that was his personal assistant's weird ass way of confirming that fact. If it made her happy, whatever.

"Rodney would probably have a heart attack if he so much as left a bruise." Might as well reassure her. "He's just..." An asshole.

"A dick. Who doesn't call. Who's probably going to keep dropping in and going away, so can I just say now that you shouldn't let him, for your own sanity? There's hundreds of guys who're your type who wouldn't pull this shit on you. What about that Scottish guy you keep running into in the grocery store?"

That guy was pretty cute. Incredibly sweet, amazing blue eyes, hot accent. If there were nineteen perfect nice guys in a lineup and one asshole like Rodney, John would pick the asshole, take him home and make him breakfast. "He's way too nice. Apparently, it's only the jerks I really like."

"Run his foot over with your shopping cart the next time you see him. Maybe it'll work for you that way," Amy told him snidely. "Seriously, give something else a try. Think of it as... your favorite ice cream made you sick. Well, don't let it turn you off of ice cream. Change brands."

"...your sisters told you that one, right?" John eyeballed her. "I'll get over it. Seriously. It was a bad idea, and a mistake, and I should never have gone for coffee with him. I'll know better next time. Well. I know better now."

"You just said yourself it's been twelve years. That's kind of nothing at all like getting back on the saddle. More like setting the barn on fire." She shrugged at him, and then went tense when the phone rang in the kitchen.

John gave a sigh and shook his head. "C'mon. Let's go inside and eat." And get the phone, because the only person who called him on any kind of regular basis was sitting there with him.

"I can get all of this inside, if you want to..." Go shout at a telemarketer, yeah, John might do it. It'd make him feel better to yell at somebody.

He nodded to Amy and snagged his beer bottle before stepping back into the kitchen. The phone was still ringing, so he picked it up off of the counter and thumbed the button. "Hello?"

~"Hey, John."~ Oh. Oh, shit, he should've just hung up then and there, but McKay sounded looped or drunk.

"McKay." He felt his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding together. "You're about two days too late to be calling me, asshole."

~"I am?"~ It was a miserably toned question. ~ "Huh. I'm, I'm in the infirmary here. I got shot in the ass. While we were out. With an arrow, and Beckett wouldn't let me even try to get up because something about infection or some other voodoo bullshit, which I can tell you is bullshit because there's no reason for an arrow to hurt more than a bullet. But it hit my ass."~

Oh. Fucking Christ. "Rodney? Rodney, where are you?" He'd, he'd... do something. Tell Amy, get her to drive him, whatever, because seriously. Wait. "Are you shitting me?"

~"No. It was, was something out of a Boy Scout's wet dream, with a stupid barbed head. I'm in Cheyenne Mountain. Didn't even get to go on the diaper run, it was deferred, we had to pull Sam's ass out of the fire, I had to because someone has to make things go zoom and hey, hey, no, you said I could use the pho~one."

"Aye, but you're hugging my desk, Rodney, and you should really be -- here, give it to me and get back to bed, or I'll get Doctor Fraiser to have you dragged there."~

There was a hard breath huffed against the mouthpiece of the phone on the other end.

That voice, that was... "McKay! McKay. Hand the phone to the Scottish guy, okay? You're high or something, let me talk to the Scottish guy!"

Amy stood in the doorway, making a face and mouthing, 'What the hell, John?'

There was something like a muttered grumble on the other end of the line, and then fumbling, and then the other man's much clearer, firmer voice. ~"I'm terribly sorry about this, sir. I'm assuming, uh, that you're a friend of Major McKay?"~

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Where's Rodney, what's.. how'd he get shot in the ass? With an arrow? Christ, have you people called Jeannie, or...."

~"Rodney's going to go lie down in his infirmary bed again and go back to resting... Aye, fine, take the calculator. If it'll keep you in bed where you ought to be without restraints involved, yes, take it. No, it's sort of an, well, a wee odd injury, and it's under circumstances that I'm not at liberty to explain, but he'll be as right as rain and a pain in our asses again in another day or two."~

Great. Charming. Perfect. "What the hell is wrong with you people? You don't send guys like McKay out to get shot in the ass! You keep them where you can, I don't know, not get their brains spattered all over the wall, or, or, or their asses!" John protested. "I thought you were a nice guy in the bread aisle!"

~"Eh? Oh, oh!"~ There was too long of a pause, and John almost imagined the man on the other line dropping the phone. ~"Oh, lord, it's a small world. Uh, I'm just afraid that it's a security clearance issue and I'm not even the one who makes those sorts of decisions. I'm just a doctor, and Rodney doesn't usually run into this kind of trouble."~

"Ha! I saw his ribs, I don't believe you! Now he's been shot in the ass!"

"John!" Amy yelped, covering her face. It was probably something like knowing your older brother was having sex, hearing that.

~"Yes, and another member of his team was killed, so right now I'd just concentrate on being grateful that he was only shot in the ass."~ 'Beckett' sounded frustrated and his voice slid down a few notes. ~"He's got exceedingly good luck, our Major."~

"Shot in the ass," John repeated to Amy, waving a hand, and huh. Maybe that had been one beer to many. "How do you even respond to that? Exceedingly good luck does not include getting shot. In the ass!"

~"Look, son, it's not like we threw him out into the woods with no training at all. This was a very bad situation all around, and it happened and if it had've been a bullet it would've come right out the other side and blown out his pelvis, so excuse me for thinking that discomfort and some scarring is a good sight better than major internal damage. I'm sure he'll try to call later, and at the worst he'll be allowed to leave in two or three days."~

And then the bastard hung up on him. Hung up!

"They shot him in the ass!" John yelled, waving the phone at Amy. He couldn't help grinning. "So it wasn't just, yanno. Not calling. So that's good, right? Except not good because Rodney had the most perfect heart-shaped a..."

"With an arrow through it," Amy finished for him, mouth twitching a little.

"Yeah. One of those." John frowned. Well. Arrow. Huh. "I think I might have had a little too much to drink."

"At eleven am," Amy agreed, leaning forwards a little to take the cordless phone out of his hand before he did something that she might be expecting at that point. Like put it down in the sink. "So, what happened?"

John looked at the phone, looked at the steak, frowned. "He got shot. In the ass. Which is just.... who shoots at an astrophysicist? With a perfect ass?"

"Maybe he didn't have astrophysicist tattooed on his ass. Maybe he happened to look just like the guys carrying the big guns to whoever was shooting."

It was hard to argue that one, because Rodney probably had been carrying a gun or... whatever astrophysicists did when they got shot at. But seriously. "In the ass," John said again. "So I guess not answering the phone is sort of excusable. McKay's a baby about pain." Or he used to be, so.

He probably still was. "Mmm. With bullet wounds and now an arrow in his ass? I'd be a baby about it, too. His doctor's probably just drugged him up for all of their sanity." Amy moved in, towards the steak, probably to get plates and a fork or at least make John do something with it.

"There's potatoes in the oven." John decided on doing something with the steak, and then they could work on potatoes and salad. Rodney had been shot in the ass, and the day was looking up.

He'd just never really expected those two trains of thought -- shot in the ass and his day getting better -- to ever intersect like that in his head. Life was full of surprises for John.

One thing was certain, though; surprises or no, things looked a lot better now that he knew Rodney had been shot in the ass instead of avoiding him.

* * *

He had been shot.

In the ass. And Carson had drugged him!

And now he was, he was concentrating really hard on sitting up, and staying sitting up and knowing that he had to sit on his hips, while he tried to shake off the drugs that Carson had finally stopped giving him.

"Well, I have to say you're looking a hundred percent better, Rodney." Speak of the devil, and the Scottish bastard appeared. "Aye, for a while there, I thought I'd have to tie you to the bed to keep you from wandering."

"I told you that I had a phone call to make." He had to speak deliberately, which he hated. He hated having to think consciously to think at all, because everything was usually spinning around in his head, skittering this way and that, and effective as opposed to spinning dizzily in looping chaotic uselessness.

Carson was scribbling on his clipboard, nodding almost to himself. "Oh, aye, but for the first two days all you'd say was that Sheppard'd kill you in your sleep if y'didn't get to a telephone, and that made about as much sense as... well, most everything you and Colonel Carter toss back and forth, to be honest."

"Of course it wouldn't make sense to you. You're a doctor." Rodney slouched down a little, glaring at Carson. "So, I did call him. Didn't I? I'm not sure if I was hallucinating that or not."

"Oh, aye. You assaulted my office, draped yourself over my desk and came near to causing quite a ruckus. Apparently, this Sheppard and I share a grocers, as he yelled that he'd thought I was a nice sort in the bread aisle." Carson paused, looked at him in that disapproving mother-hen sort of way that he had, and pursed his lips. "You've got to be a wee bit more careful with these things, Rodney." His voice was low, barely a whisper.

Oh fuck. Rodney went stiff, and plucked at the sheets. "I have no idea what you're talking about. None. He's an old college friend who I ran into again, and I was a bastard to him and the last thing I needed him thinking was that I was going to up and disappear again."

That had absolutely no effect on the puckery mother-hen look. "Aye, well, just keep it in mind, would you? It's not as if I'll say naught, but don't make me fret."

"I have no idea at all what you're talking about," Rodney muttered, returning puckered look for a stare. "He's a college friend. He used to be a mathematician."

"And what's he now, dare I ask?" Carson shook his head and went back to scribbling in his chickenscratch way. "In any case. I'll be willing to let you go if you tell me you aren't going back to your house, but to some nice hotel or other where regular meals'll be delivered and perhaps I can call and remind you to take your medications."

"Huh. That sounds a lot nicer than being kept here. When do I come back to duty?" He'd wanted to ask if Carson really meant that or if it was some veiled threat or suggestion, but he was on the good drugs and there was no getting around the fact that he was still shaking off brain haze. It was maddening. He had to find out what those drugs were and never get on them again.

'You'll come back when I say and not a moment sooner. Now. You might as well settle on your belly so I can take a look at things before I let you go."

"I think you have an unfair fascination with my shot ass," Rodney muttered, turning over to lay down on his stomach. Hey. Hey, he could stay with John, maybe. Or he could go home and live off of pasta roni, which was also a pretty tempting consideration.

It didn't take Carson long to take a look at things, poking and prodding and generally making life painful. Rodney gritted his teeth instead of yelling about sheepherders and their damn lacking medical skills, and in short order, they were done. "Right. I'll put together your walking papers, then."

"Do my walking papers include pants?" Rodney miserably hoped they did, because he wasn't up for another round of walking through the infirmary without pants. And if he could escape before Colonel Carter came around, all the better for him.

"C'mon, McKay. The nurses enjoy it so much when you leave without pants."

So much for that hope.

Carson nodded at Carter and then stepped away from the bed. "I'll bring you some clothing, Rodney, but promise me. Nothing tight or constricting. Keep to the loose britches, mind."

"If you think I plan on leaving that hotel room or changing out of boxer shorts once I get there, you're insane," he mumbled into the pillow, turning slowly onto his hip. "And you. I want you to remember this happened because I was trying to save your sorry ass."

The sheepish look that crossed Sam's face was no surprise. "I know. I'm really sorry about it, too. They seemed like a pretty friendly bunch, and then... Well, you know how it goes."

"Yeah, I know how it goes," Rodney shrugged. The worst part of it was that Williams was dead. Dead and Rodney needed to do something about it, which took the edge off of the idea that he could get out of the infirmary because that was going to be hanging over his head as a guilt cloud. "Actually, I need to write some condolence for William's family." The required airman and one chaplain would have already visited the house by then, but.

"Yeah." For a moment, silence held fast between them and he thought maybe, just maybe, she'd walk away and that would be all. She lingered, though, and finally looked up at him through her lashes. "So, um. You're off-duty for a while, I guess."

"Yeah. I'm going to call a taxi, get a ride to a nice hotel, and lay in someone else's bed and order room service for a while." Well, and call John, and hope he could see him and generally make the best out of his time off.

"A hotel, huh? You're still not seeing anybody?" She shook her head. "Seriously, McKay. You're more of a homebody than I am. That can't be good for you."

"I'm happy. Just the way things are for me." Rodney shifted again and if he kept moving then maybe he could get all revved up for the big mission of standing up and putting pants on. As it was, it kept him from looking too hard at Sam, which was a good thing. Brains made him hot, and standing around in his underwear was bad for that.

"Here you go." Carson was back, thank God, slipping around the curtains with a pair of scrub bottoms and a t-shirt, Rodney's shoes and a clean pair of socks in one hand. "Now. See me before you leave. I want to make sure you've got the things you need."

"Thanks." He smiled at Carson. So, Carson went to the same grocery store as John, and was on to him. Seriously, what was it, Gay Men Shop here Inc? John wasn't that obvious. He drove a scary black car, scary hot, dressed nicely, but not too nice, and his sense in decorations were so-so. Jeannie would've sneered.

"You're welcome. Colonel, it's good to see you again." Carson smiled at her in his vague sheepherding way.

"Ah, it's... good to see you, too, Dr. Beckett. I hear your research is going well these days?" She was polite enough to ask, anyway, and that was a good thing.

Rodney never bothered but Carson also knew that at the end of the day, he'd be more honestly interested in it than Carter was. "I'm sure it is, when he's not treating people who've been shot in the ass, Colonel. Can I get a little privacy?"

"Oh!" The fact that he wanted any such thing seemed to startle her, and sometimes? Sometimes Rodney wondered if all of her common sense had become wrapped up in the genius bits and didn't work anymore. "Of course. I'll, um. I'll see you around, McKay."

"And I'll close the curtains," Carson offered.

"Once I'm back on duty, ma'am." And not a moment sooner. He had half a hunch that if he was civilian, she'd never rise to the occasion, but he'd made a mistake of finding her attractive right at the start. And saying it. She'd never forgotten it, either, and it had worried him a little when she'd gone from Major to light Colonel, but she'd never pushed it or made it too difficult.

Sam waved and headed out of the infirmary, and Carson left him alone to get dressed.

Blessed, blessed silence. Rodney clutched at the pants for maybe a minute too long, and then he hefted himself carefully out of the bed, not putting too much weight on the leg on his bad side. All the muscles hurt, and what wasn't directly painful felt wobbly. The scrubs were going to be a pain in the ass. Rodney considered the problem and decided that laying the pants halfway on the floor and shuffling his way into them would be the easiest way. Lifting his right leg was a pain (literally), but he managed to get them on with a minimum amount of difficulty, all the same.

He grinned a little as he shrugged the hospital smock off, and pulled the t-shirt on over his head. There, not so bad. If it hadn't been his right leg, he could have driven himself home. Well, barring the drugs. As it was, he'd get a taxi, go by the house and pick up things he'd need -- clothes, his laptop, a couple of books he was pretending to read. Maybe he should stop someplace and pick up a copy of some of Sheppard's stuff, mostly for the amusement factor. Then he could call John and see if John wanted a change of pace. There was no way he wasn't going to do the hotel thing, because he didn't want to live the prime time comedy trick of being in the wrong place when Sam Carter got it in her head to feel guilt and look him up.

She would, too; Carter was weird like that, flirting at him and then backing away the way the next door neighbor's cat always did, almost as if it was afraid he'd actually pet it. That particular trait had been the reason Rodney had pretty much ignored the crush he had on Carter. It just wasn't worth feeling like he was petting a skittish puss. He knew how to handle John. It was riskier, sure, but he knew how to handle that puss, knew what he liked and what he didn't like, and he could... could relax and enjoy and mean it when he said he missed him. John fit back with him like old boots, fantastic and like no other pair in the world because they had that history, and he wanted not to fuck it up. Fuck DADT. Just, fuck it, and the UMCJ and he was screwed but he could try to be careful.

The military had been good for him; it had paid for his education when his grants had fallen through, it had.. okay, maybe not made him less of an asshole, but it had made him a bearable asshole because at least now he knew how to keep his tongue between his teeth when it was vitally necessary. That had been a hell of a hard lesson to learn, but he had it now, and that's what he would do with the whole John thing.

If Sheppard wasn't so pissed he had him shot on sight, anyway.

He'd play that by ear, though. See how it went and if it seemed to be heading towards something better than he could conflict of interest his way into a civilian position. If it had to be done, he could get himself disabled out with some conveniently placed lab accident. He'd need to research things a bit first. If it even came that way.

After all, Sheppard had been kind of a pissy bitch with him to start with, and the sex had been fantastic, but a few days of thinking he'd been used for sex had probably upped John's vinegar level by a hell of a lot. Rodney had called -- Carson said as much -- but God only knew what the hell he had said. He'd be damned if he could remember.

Rodney pulled back the curtain and stuck his head out. "Carson! Bring your voodoo doctor papers over here so I can leave the Mountain!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming. You're not my only patient, y'know!"

"Isn't that every reason to get me out of here?" When he mixed logic in, it was usually delightfully hard for people to argue with him, because it was the best reason in the world for Carson to want to get rid of him and fast.

"Oh, aye, so you'll bother your fellow patients less, I expect." Carson still had that pursed mouth, and he was eyeing Rodney speculatively. "Now. Do as I've told you, and don't forget that you can call me if you're having any sort of problems. Get, you big baby." He handed off a sheaf of papers and nodded.

Fantastic. Rodney clutched them like the gold they were, and started towards the door. "Wah, wah. I'll call you if anything's gone wrong, Carson -- oh, and any medications I need, or can I get them filled on the outside...?" Like he was getting out of prison or something.

"You'll need a few things, considering the infection that was wanting to set in. Let me get them together for you. Stop back by after you've picked up your things?" Carson really was with another patient, or Rodney might have protested.

"Will do." It wasn't as if he had many things to pick up, but he could take his time. He was going to have to take his time, Rodney decided, because once he got walking the agonizing pull of his muscles was all too obvious to him.

"And be careful!" Carson yelled after him, as if he could possibly be anything else.

Rodney didn't dignify that with a reply. Instead, he shuffled his way along the corridor, heading for the locker room where his personal items were still stored. He'd pick those up, grab his phone, and see if he could get hold of Sheppard. At least then he could explain with some degree of intelligence.

He still felt fuzzy headed, but it was better than nothing at all. God knew what he said, and God, Rodney knew, was probably still laughing at him. Just in general. 

Hopefully he hadn't said anything too amazingly moronic, or else all of his hopes about John and a future of some kind with said John were out of the question.

He had never really understood why things with John had failed on such a massive level. Rodney had needed funding, and he'd found it. It had meant giving up long lazy weekends curled in the sheets with John, and it had meant getting up early to go running when Rodney hated running. He'd had too much to do and not enough time to do it in and by the time he realized John was gone, well. John was gone and he was young and stupid and hadn't actually understood that he'd fucked up the love of his life.

But he had. There was no question that he'd loved John, and no question that he was bad with things like that. He would have lost touch with his sister if she wasn't so busy railing him about being part of The Man -- and seriously, he was sure the hippy streak was a rebellious response to their Stepford wife mother, but she meant it with all of her heart and soul and brilliance when she called Rodney a sellout -- and he was going to have to make a conscious effort not to screw things up worse with John than they'd already been.

And there he was, shot in the ass. With an arrow. He was going to have to come up with a cover story for it to start. And John wasn't stupid, so it would have to be a good one, too.

He stepped into the locker room, and he wasn't all that surprised to hear O'Neill talking to somebody in the showers. He was speaking loudly, trying to be heard over the spray, but he paused when Rodney came in. "McKay."

"Colonel." He nodded at O'Neill. Full bird Colonel, well on his way to being one of the many crazy generals. There was a theory that when they were sent off to their last school, generals became men who could write reasonably and talk pretty. Rodney was sure it was a lie, a dirty filthy lie that they told the enlisted men to give them some sense of faith in the leadership. O'Neill wasn't trainable on that level, and he was always going to be just that vaguely unsettling man with too many ribbons on his dress uniform.

"How's the, ah..." That hand gesture obviously said I hope your ass isn't being too much of a pain in the.

"Painful," Rodney told him. He'd never wanted to learn how to lie and say 'oh, fine' because people tended to take that as honest truth when it was clearly just a polite lie, and then ask a man to do something for them.

"Well, I guess it would be that, then. Thanks for savin' our bacon out there. Carter was in the infirmary the first day you were there." Yes, yes, their resident genius would clearly have managed to solve the problem without him except for the part where she'd had a concussion from the stone-throwing arrow-shooting natives.

It was unbelievably obnoxious of them. Carter, too.

"I'd say 'I know', sir, except our resident voodoo doctor had me drugged to the gills until this morning." He turned towards his locker to fiddle with the combination.

O'Neill grunted an acknowledgement and shuffled around in his own area for a moment so that Rodney could legitimately pretend he was in there alone. It was preferable, really. SG-1 always put his teeth on edge for some reason.

"Jack? Did you.. Oh! Rodney. Good, you're out of the infirmary. That's great."

And the reason for O'Neill's shower-facing talk became apparent.

"And off duty until Beckett tells me otherwise." PT was going to be hell for a while even when he was allowed back on, and Rodney just wanted to cringe in anticipation of any of it.

The way Jackson shifted with that towel around his hips made Rodney want to cringe for entirely different reasons. Did O'Neill get the 'don't be so gay' tight lipped purses from Carson, too? Probably, because between him and the way Jackson just kind of... Well, it was a good thing nobody asked and they didn't tell any more than they already did. Wives, Rodney had found, even the dead and ex varieties, were great camouflage for that kind of thing.

"Oh, yeah, your... sorry about that. You know. Um. Oh! But I did manage to save the box. You should come by and see it sometime. Not now, obviously," Jackson continued, completely oblivious to the fact that Rodney had taken an arrow in the ass for some stupid box with crazy writing on it. "But when you're back on duty."

Thankfully Jackson also seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was hard under that towel. "Was there anything interesting in it?" Rodney shuffled a spare set of clothes into his duffle, turning around again.

"Oh, yeah, several very interesting bits, I think. It looks a lot like the Cherokee alphabet, which is pretty cool, actually."

Jackson was at least turning around and getting dressed, so Rodney didn't have to feel self-conscious about the weirdness of the situation. Plus, it was easier to declare his lack of interest if he wasn't looking at the guy's face.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure it's going to be useful when we least expect it." Or, it was going to be one of the many doorstops that he'd risked his neck for. "Colonel, has Williams' family been notified yet?" He snagged his boots, and then had a moment of working out how he was going to get them on without sitting down.

O'Neill turned and looked at him then instead of at Jackson's ass. At least there was that. "I went out with the chaplain the day after," he said finally, nodding.

"Thank you, sir." He was still going to write the family a letter, but O'Neill did have a way of being genuinely sorry in a way Rodney wasn't sure he ever matched. Not when he had trouble leaning a hip against his locker door while he pulled one boot on.

"Yeah. You know, Heightmeyer's seeing the rest of your guys. Just, yanno. In case you might wanna talk to her."

"I think I'd rather go get some real, drug free sleep." He shifted carefully, using his shoulder to buttress himself upright the second time, pulling on his left shoe.

Jackson seemed to really register what was going on at that point, because he turned around with that sad, earnest look on his face that made him look almost as gay as Rodney's ex-wife's new husband. "If you need anything," he offered. "Anything at all."

And what did a guy say to that? No, but thanks. Please stop being so creepily earnest? "I appreciate that." He tugged the laces tight, tucked them into the tops of the boots, and decided to call that a day, while he fished out his cell phone, and left it at the top of the duffle in lieu of the complete lack of pockets in his scrubs.

O'Neil and Jackson were talking quietly, now, their voices pretty soft, considering. Rodney decided to ignore it and grasped his duffel, deciding pretty quickly that it could be left to rest in a general kind of way, half-dragging it after him. It was more comfortable, and if anybody had a problem with it, then they could pick it up and tote it for him.

He headed back to the infirmary since he had to pick up drugs from Carson, shuffling along tiredly. He might not even make it to the hotel, might end up shacking up with John or at his house just because he couldn't get any further.

It hurt to walk, and so what if Sam investigated. He'd just... put things into play sooner. Whatever. He could figure it out as he went, because it was just a pain to walk and it shouldn't have been, but no, he had to man it up and pack things for himself and just go forth and do.

Carson was actually ready for him by the time he dragged himself there, and he was frowning already. It was the stupid man frown, not the don't be so gay frown, so that was all right then. "Here. Antibiotics, pain medicine, and something to help you sleep if you're having problems, which you might. Now," he said. "Let me have the bag. I'm walking you up, and I'll call a cab before we go."

Rodney was fairly used to that particular where's your common sense gone now? expression, so he just gave Carson a tight smile and nodded. "That sounds great. Sleep, right now, sounds like the best thing in the world."

"Y'know, I'm due to go off-shift in another few hours, Rodney. You could always stay here until then and..."

"That's all right. I can get from point A to point B in relatively one piece, Carson." He didn't want Carson worrying or clucking anymore than he was already going to, either. And he would. Carson could complain about Rodney's low pain tolerance, but Rodney knew it was all a cover. He worried like a hen with one chick over pretty much everybody who came through the infirmary, but he'd been Rodney's best man and best friend for... well, a hell of a long time.

"If you're sure, I suppose I'll have to live with it," Carson sighed, and picked up the phone and called the front gates to request a taxi for a patient. Then he took Rodney's duffel bag from him, tossing it over a shoulder. "Come on, then."

"See, isn't it just easier when you give in to my stubbornness?" Rodney rolled his shoulders a little, shaking off the not distracting enough from his ass crick in his left shoulder, trying to get Carson to grin a little.

The curve of his mouth was kind of a relief, and Rodney took a small breath of relief. "Don't think I won't remember this stubbornness and hold it against you later, Rodney."

"Yes, yes, later. Later, when I don't feel like there's still an arrow lodged in my delicate nether regions." He managed to keep pace with Carson, or else Carson was keeping pace with him, because they were going pretty slowly towards the lift shaft.

"Honestly, Rodney. There hadn't ought to be any sort of lingering damage. You were incredibly lucky, all things considered. As I told that fellow you called --"

"Sheppard."

"Aye, well, Sheppard. As I told him, at least it wasn't a bullet. That would've created a right mess and a much more serious problem."

"Right. I know that. It's just... Just the singularly most strange wounding I've ever had. Also, I still need to come up with a cover story. I might stick with 'crazy guy shot me in the ass'."

Carson herded him into the lift and hit the button for the top floor, shaking his head. "Aye, with an arrow, don't forget. You told your friend that over the phone, and I don't doubt that'll be an interesting conversation."

"Fantastic. He writes books now. I'm not sure whether that will make him more likely to believe a story like that or more likely to believe I got drunk and it was a horrible accident involving a dartboard." And which answer, the truth or the lie, was more likely to get him into any kind of damaging long term trouble with John.

"An author then? Named She... my God, Rodney! JOHN Sheppard? The mathematician who writes the..."

"Yes, yes, yes, the terrible dinosaur novels, I know, but--"

"Terrible?" Carson interrupted. "Good God, Rodney! You're talking about the best selling author of the last decade?"

Rodney grimaced and let Carson shore him up gently. "Are you kidding me? He writes things that should make you flail. Dinosaurs. God, he had this fantastically crooked dinosaur skeleton kit in our dorm room. He'd put it together himself and it was proof that he should have failed shop in high school. His dead shop teacher should have risen from the grave to revoke his A after that model."

"My God." Carson shook his head, obviously disregarding everything Rodney had just said. "On occasion, I honestly wonder if you even live on this planet."

"I'm pretty sure I live on this planet, " Rodney decided, leaning a hip against one wall while Carson stepped forwards when the doors opened again. "Just occasionally."

"I simply cannot imagine knowing the John Sheppard and... and... For God's sake. I met the man at the grocer's. John Sheppard!" Obviously, Carson was some sort of fanboy. John had always had them, one way and another.

He always had, except in college they'd been undergradsmen and other grad students and, actually, people from all walks of life. And he'd settled for Rodney. If his ego were more fragile, Rodney would've wondered why. "Right, well. You apparently never knew him aged eighteen, picking his nose. I'll just stick to knowing the one John Sheppard I know, and I'll leave you and the hallucinatory ones alone."

Even that didn't seem to faze Carson. "I'll loan you my favorites, you philistine. Even you can't imagine that he isn't completely amazing after that."

"I already think he's amazing. He's brilliant with numbers. The kind of brilliant with numbers we could use around here." Now, now Carson was walking faster and Rodney could tell.

Carson ushered him towards the doors to the outside and the transport that was probably waiting to take him to the front gates, knowing him. "And brilliant with words, as well, in my opinion. Ah, well. You'll believe as you believe then. I'll still allow you to borrow my favorites, if you like. The apocalyptic ones are quite impressive."

"I knew he made me pay for coffee just to be a dick," Rodney decided, when he'd already known it was because he had a lot of penance to pay John, no matter how successful he was or he wasn't. He was John. And maybe if Rodney kept talking like that he could throw off Carson's apparently suddenly functioning again gaydar. Never mind that when someone openly hit on Beckett, it seemed to stop working. Rodney had seen it.

His friend just laughed at him and shook his head. "On your way," he encouraged, gesturing to the jeep waiting just outside. "And I'll give you the books when I come to check on you later. The least you can do is have the man sign them for me."

"Done and done. You know that to check up on me I'll actually eventually have to give you an address, right?" Rodney started towards the jeep, barely not-dragging his duffle. The driver jumped out to assist him, and that was good. Never mind that Carson had probably spilled his guts about the fact that Rodney had been ass shot.

"I'll call you. You do plan on answering your phone, don't you? And I can follow directions so long as you aren't quite so insane as the other night, so." Carson waved and stepped back inside, and the driver hurried around, giving Rodney a grin.

"Hey, Major. So. Where to? Dr. Beckett said to call a cab, but the guys up at the booth just called me 'cause I told 'em I'd be glad to take you where-ever."

"If you were a taxi I was going to drag you two or three places first, but I think I was overestimating myself. I've got a buddy in Skyway who can do that for me." Maybe he could even talk John into seeing the hotel idea as a nice get away. Who knew? "So, Skyway."

"You got it." The kid grinned at him, and it almost hurt because seriously. He was a baby, and Rodney wondered how the hell the brass managed to justify these twelve year old Marines and the whole getting shot at thing. He'd probably thought the same thing twelve years ago, but he was getting older, and they kept getting younger.

"Thanks." At least if he was driving a jeep, he had to be safer than if he was out on a gate mission. But it was thoughts like that that made Rodney wonder just what had made those crazy recruiters think that he was leadership material. He'd never been friendly, and his smartass attitude had caused him a world of trouble before he'd finally learned to keep his damn mouth (mostly) shut.

They'd probably give him another kid like this one, like Williams had been. He was going to have to go see Williams's mother, even if he couldn't explain anything. She was a single mom and he had talked about her all the time and how she'd raised him and his kid sister alone just outside of Denver after his father had died.

And just. Son of a bitch, he needed to do that soon because he knew that with every day that passed she was going to grow more and more resentful and sad and it wasn't as if his visiting would do anything one direction or the other, but it needed to be done. He just hoped she wasn't going to punch him out.

The kid stopped at the front gate and let the guard know where he was heading and they turned out, snaking their way through to 115 North and merging into traffic. It wasn't bad, even if sitting on his hips was making his ass kill him. The kid had the radio on, some kind of hiphop fluff stuff that mostly made Rodney grind his teeth and wish for a couple of Advil. He wasn't forcing Rodney into conversation, though, and that was the important part.

Generally, they stayed quiet with him for fear of accidentally committing a CLM in front of an officer who maybe didn't have buckets of rank, but was definitely well respected in the base. Rodney kept his eyes closed, and shifted his position part way there. It wasn't a bad trip at all. 

The worst part of it was going to have to be the music, he figured, so he closed his eyes and closed his ears and dozed for most of the trip, pretending he wasn't even awake enough to notice when the car slowed down.

He realized he hadn't given the kid the address when the car stopped and the kid (Ford, Rodney had glanced over to see) kind of... poked him. "Major? We're in Skyway. Which way do I need to go?"

God, it was too early in the afternoon to look that bright eyed and bushytailed, Rodney decided. Too close to it having been lunch recently. Or somewhere in there, when Rodney just wanted to close his eyes and nap. But there the kid was, smiling slightly at him. "Oh, uh. huh, take a left. Sorry, I'm bad with the street names out this way."

"Well, they're all stuff like Orion and Nebula and Pegasus and stuff, so it's not like they're easy to remember. Oh, but hey. You're like Colonel Carter, so you're pretty good with this stuff, right?" Ford shook his head. "Still. Street names. Crazy."

"I think he's on Tyco Court. Or Keppler. It was one of those." Scientists, and if Rodney thought about it that was still nicely geeky of John to do. Just about right, too, considering his new profession. John was still John, in so many ways.

"You, uh, wanna call ahead?" That probably wasn't a bad idea, either, just so that he could get John to come out and wave an arm or something.

"Right." Rodney fished into his duffle, grateful that his cell phone held a charge when it was off. He'd had the good sense to put John's number in the memory, at least.

He flipped it open and thumbed it on, scrolling down quickly to John's number to call him. For a minute, he didn't think John was going to pick up, but he did, finally. "'sbetter be fuckin' good."

"Hi, John." He sounded tired and miserable and Rodney was definitely there himself, leaning on one hip and trying to stay awake and together. "I've been sprung."

There were a few choice words declaring him a motherfucker, and then John seemed to pause. "McKay? 'zat you?"

"Yeah. Were you sleeping? It's two, threeish at the worst in the afternoon." It wasn't 'I'm sorry;' but he hoped it carried enough of the right tone to pass.

For a second, he thought John had hung up on him. "Of course I was sleeping! It's two, threeish in the afternoon for Christ's sake!" And okay, yeah, John had been kind of nocturnal way back when, but apparently it had gotten worse. "I'll... open the door or something. Make coffee. Fuck."

"Coffee sounds good right now." Rodney shifted, glancing in the rearview mirror to catch glimpses of Ford's expression. "We'll be there shortly."

"It's seven sixty Tyco Court, McKay. Try not to get lost." And then John hung up.

Huh.

Part of him was envious. He only got to sleep in on the weekends, and even then his body's clock was usually so badly honed that it woke him up at eight. Even then it was with a nagging sense that there was gate activity going on and that the mere fact meant that he could be called in at any moment. Between emergencies, he and Carter had been working the bugs out of her dialing program, so there was always that to consider, and... And.

John slept until the afternoon was well under way and Rodney was envious. "It's house number seven sixty. Tyco."

"You got it, Major." Ford gave him a sketchy solute with one hand and kept driving with the other. Rodney was grateful when both of his hands were back on the wheel in the proper position because he hadn't been driving long enough to take Rodney's life in hand.

He was fresh from college, still bright eyed and bushy tailed, and Rodney never remembered being that way, actually. He'd been too old when he was fresh from college. Too old in his head at least. And now there was John... again.

Rodney shifted, and let his eyes drift out the windows. The houses were ridiculously large and probably equally as expensive. Worse, they had to pause to get through some kind of gate and the guard called John and that was just a pain in the ass in more ways than he cared to consider.

John was grumpy when he woke up, and actually, kind of a bitch on average, if Rodney thought about it. It was one of the things he liked about him. John had never been afraid to speak his mind, and he'd never expected anyone else to refrain, either. It was probably why they'd gotten along so well for so long. Rodney shook his head a little, trying to get together enough not to potentially embarrass himself in front of the young lieutenant. "Some people have all the luck, huh?"

"I'd ask who you were going to see, but I'm kinda scared the guy at the front gate will stop me and say now he's got to kill me for knowing." Ford was a pretty good kid, because he made all the right turns and was pulling up in John's driveway within a few minutes. "Here we are, Major. Let me help you with the bag."

"Thanks, but I've got it." Mostly because he didn't want anyone exposed to John's Just Woken Up Wrath. Rodney popped the door of the jeep open, and reached for his duffle, dragging it out. Fuck, his ass hurt in new ways after having sat for so long, and he hobbled as he made his way towards the door.

The jeep idled behind him for a moment, probably so that the kid could be sure he got in okay. It was unfortunate that John was half-naked and glaring when he opened the door.

"Jesus, Rodney. You're moving like you're ancient, for crying out loud!"

"Hey, you get shot in the ass and let's see how fast you run! Jesus, I knew I woke you up, but..." Rodney waved a hand at him, vaguely, grimacing because Ford was going to have a story to tell the whole base about McKay's crazy friends.

"Oh, what?" That cheeky smirk and the way that John waved at Ford made it damn certain. "Your driver's adorable. What is he, twelve?"

"Second Lieutenant. He's on one of the units, first assignment. He's scarily... young, isn't he?" Rodney suspected he'd be thinking that until the day he died, that they were all kids, and he was half sure that was the bizarre mental place that Colonel O'Neill came from.

"That's the understatement of the year. And you don't feel any moral qualms about..." John waved his hands around, and yeah. It was a good thing Ford was driving away, because that was quite possibly the single gayest thing Rodney had ever seen. "Give me that and get in here."

"Gladly. I'm probably scaring your neighbors," Rodney agreed, as cattily as he could muster when it felt like there was still an arrow in his ass. It was worth it for John to snatch at his heavy duffle bag, and grimace at it.

"What'd you do, pack the kitchen sink? Come on."

He held the door open until Rodney came through it, then shut and locked it and set the alarm. "Bedroom's up the stairs, which you already know, but I'm guessing it's gonna be a literal pain in the ass to get there. Guest room's this way."

"I packed up my locker. Mostly so no one got nosy, because I've seen some of the second lieutenants make the most ingenious lock-picks out of a soda can. Masterlocks just can't stand up to it." Rodney supposed he was talking about them like squirrels, but. It was vaguely right, and they were a little squirrely. Rodney started to shuffle after John's 'this way'. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Yeah, well, you probably didn't mean to start off my next book, either, all things considered. Seems you've just got that kind of effect on me." He moved up a couple of steps, and Rodney gritted his teeth and steeled himself to follow. At least Sheppard slowed down.

"Is that good or bad?" It was taking too much concentration to walk and do witty repartee, so Rodney was probably failing on his end, but it hurt. It had been a deep wound and the arrow had been crude but had that lovely fishhook style barbing and he was just missing a lot of flesh that had come into contact with it.

Some of John's favorite flesh, actually.

"It's been good so far. I got my first best seller off of being pissed off at you." Oh, yeah. The apocalyptic thing instead of the dinosaur thing. It was Carson's favorite, apparently, and he'd have to get a book signed for him or something while he was here.

"That reminds me that you've got a fan in the infirmary. Doctor Beckett just about fell over, going 'THE John Sheppard. THE.' then he called me a heretic. Or something. I'm not really sure anymore, but you shouldn't be pissed at me right now. I just got shot in the ass. That should be worth some pity."

"Yeah, well, you managed to injure one of my favorite parts of your body, McKay. At least they were shooting at your ass and not your brain, which still fucks with me in ways that are completely just..." John headed through the kitchen and into the back hallway ahead of him.

Bothered him, apparently. "Yeah, well. It wasn't the mission I was supposed to have gone on. We ended up having to do an extraction for my immediate commander, and then she hit on me in the infirmary." Rodney doggedly followed, and now that he was in smaller spaces he could put his hands on things, use the counter and the table as a bit of help as he went.

"Missions. Where you get shot at and your commanding officer sexually harasses you? Christ, Rodney!" Up ahead, Rodney heard his bag hit the floor. "Seriously. This sounds like a soap opera. And you can't tell me why you got shot in the ass with an arrow, either. Which means I'll just have to make up a reason for myself." He came out of the room with that bright, evil look that used to make Rodney want to drop to his knees and get his mouth on any part of John he could reach.

"Sorry, there are just some things I can't tell you. But it was really stupid, and also. An arrow. The kind you would have made by hand in boyscouts." At least that probably got John thinking South America, maybe, rather than Another Planet, though with John's imagination, who knew. "I'd ask you to kiss it and make it better, but later. After it's healed."

"Get in the bed, McKay, and try to at least get comfortable. You eaten anything?"

"Not in a while, no. I was going to do the get room service in a hotel thing, but I wanted to see you more." Instead. Both A and B. Rodney eyed the bed, and then started towards it, more than happy to stay dressed in scrubs.

John sighed and began to pull the covers down, tucking them back. "Climb in. I'll go... scramble eggs or something."

"I'll make this up to you," Rodney declared, leaning into the mattress and oh, god. "You have the best taste in beds. I take back anything I said about your mattress upstairs."

"There's nothing wrong with my mattress upstairs. It's just got a pillow top, McKay." Yeah, John had hated their mattresses in college, too. That eggshell thing they had gotten to span both beds when they turned the mattresses sideways had helped some, but he'd still bitched. "Tell me what you want to eat." He was pulled the covers up, tucking them around Rodney the way he liked, and yeah.

He'd been really stupid to give this up. Even if he wasn't sure John planned on things going the way Rodney wanted them to.

He shouldn't have given it up, period. 

"Anything. Something I can't fall asleep in. Anything you can't fall asleep in." Because John still looked sleep mussed around the eyes, even if his hair was never a giveaway.

"Yeah, you look about three steps from passing out, so I'm thinking you're gonna get breakfast again, McKay. I don't think you'll be awake long enough for steaks." John turned and headed out of the bedroom, calling back over his shoulder, "If you're not awake, don't worry. I'll eat yours, too."

"Bet you will," Rodney murmured, shifting and hugging an arm around one pillow. Later he could talk more coherently with John, apologize again, and start towards recovery.

When he could keep his eyes open for longer than five minutes, and when his ass didn't throb like he'd done extraordinarily bad things to it in the short period between the Mountain and John's place.

He was drowsing when John came back into the bedroom, but the rustling caught his attention and made him open his eyes.

At first he thought there was a light on, and then he remembered that there was a window. The sun side of the building, then. At least for the moment. Rodney turned his face into the pillow, and stretched his good leg. "Hey. Hi."

"Hey." John seemed a lot softer, but that could always be his imagination. "C'mon, McKay. Roll over and eat the eggs before they go cold."

"Ass hurts," Rodney sighed, shifting again carefully, trying to rest his hip beneath his body. "You made me eggs. I love your eggs."

"I have good eggs," John murmured, and settled the plate close enough for Rodney to actually eat it, and there was a towel there so that even if he dropped eggs everywhere, it wouldn't matter in the long run. Not much. "C'mon. eat these, so I don't have to throw them out."

He got his fingers around the fork, and propped himself up on the other elbow. "Real food. Sleep and real food... This is better than a hotel."

"You'd better think that. Now. Eat, and tell me what you did that got you shot in the ass, which? Happens to be one of my favorite parts of you, in case you didn't know it."

"It's going to have a weird dent in it when it heals." Rodney stretched a little, trying to clear his head. "We were getting Carter out of trouble."

"Which got you shot. In the ass. With an arrow. I'm going to guess that you flew out of Colorado to... Where? Some Latin American country where they haven't made a deal for M9's? So.. what? Guatemala?" Even if he couldn't tell John, he was still determined to ask questions about it.

Rodney had to appreciate that while he shoveled in mouthfuls of nicely fluffy scrambled eggs that melted away in his mouth. "Something like that. It was a fluke. Just, shitty luck. I was working on a generator..."

John snorted. "You are so full of shit, McKay. You're involved in something that you're probably not allowed to talk about, so you might as well let me spin my own story in the long run."

"Right, right. You're better at it than I am," Rodney sighed around his fork. "Go on, what else did I do?"

"Dunno. What's in Guatemala somebody'd shoot you in the ass over?" It seemed like a pretty rhetorical question. "Human aid relief generally doesn't get you shot in the ass, McKay. Now, cocaine trafficking? That might get you shot in the ass. Why are you still working for the military again if they send you out to do bullshit stuff like that?"

"Because I think names like 'Plan Colombia' are brilliant descriptions of a mission." His teeth clicked on his fork for a moment, and Rodney started to scrape stray bits of eggs in towards the warmer middle part. "Because I have the strangest job in the world."

He could almost hear the way John grimaced. "Yeah, no kidding. You know I still seriously disapprove, right? Just in case there was any kind of question involved there."

"No, I know. I know. But I'm good at what I do and I've gotten this far." And Williams hadn't and shit. Shit. He fiddled with the eggs for a moment. "In a couple of days, I'm going to need to make a trip to visit one of my guy's mother."

That seemed to make John pause, and Rodney wondered if he had really thought about it aside from Rodney's injured ass. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "You need a ride, or?"

"I will. I think they gave me a couple of weeks leave." Rodney stuck another forkful in his mouth, letting it melt in his mouth a little before he chewed. "I don't want to impose. I really did plan to just crash out in a hotel."

"Yeah, well, I'd just reached the crashing point myself and now I'm awake, at least long enough to let you finish those eggs." John was poking at his own. "So you can stay here for a few days. As long as you want."

"Thanks. I'm used to... A couple years back, I broke my arm. Sprained ankles. Shit like that. Grazes." Bullet grazes, Zats that left no marks but the mental ones.

Those were bad enough, in so many ways more than one.

"What the fuck, McKay." That... wasn't exactly what he'd expected, actually. "What the fuck. Getting shot at? Does not win. It's a fail. I thought you knew that kind of thing. What the..." And then John got up, and he was on his way out into the hall.

"I never said it was a win!" Rodney leaned up, like he could follow John. Hah. He couldn't follow him for shit, and the best he could do was tidy off the eggs. "I said it was a freakish new level of injury for me and I don't want to ever do it again!"

"Ha!" He could hear John from the other room, and those strides generally indicated pissed off, angry, confused, and worried.

The fact that he could remember what that sounded like was pretty damn bizarre, but he could. They'd done it often enough, on theory, on what type of coffee to buy, and somewhere in there, on Rodney joining up. Rodney closed his eyes for a moment, and slouched down to lay his head on the pillow.

The ways John didn't change were amazing, and he'd probably be aware of that same angry pacing in twenty years, even if he never heard it again between now and then.

He hoped he'd hear it more often than that.

That steady pace, striding and irritated, came up to the doorway. "Okay. All right. It was.. Look, it might not be the right thing to say, but you just. Jesus, Rodney."

"Yeah, well. One day I'll get to tell you what my job is and maybe then you'll agree that it's kind of worth it." He shrugged that, letting his fork linger on the not so amazingly bare plate.

John reached out, he took the plate and sighed. "I don't think I'll ever believe that, McKay. I.. Look. When we were... before? Before, I was pissed because you were going off to... run, work, be an airman, build bombs. It just never occurred to me that anybody would be stupid enough to put you in a position to get shot at." Those last two words were less angry, and more horrified, and it had been twelve years. Twelve years, and Sheppard was still angry, but it was weird scared angry, and Rodney could tell that now.

Funny. They'd had sex once and been in the same room twice, and they were picking back up in the weirdest places.

Angry and scared and horny, and it made Rodney want to just reach out and pull John down. He reached for John's wrist, to try to do just that. Twelve years. "They have me leading a team. It's a position where they need my scientific knowledge. They need people with specialties."

"To get shot at." John was grim. "To die, like this guy whose mom you need to go and see."

"I swear to god, if you make me come back with 'to protect our country', I'm going to throw up in my mouth after I say it, because this job is a lot bigger than that and I can't talk about it." He shifted his fingers on Jon's wrist, feeling the tendons go tight.

Sheppard looked at him, and Rodney could almost imagine it, then; a John who wasn't mostly blind, who wasn't glaring at him from behind tiny rectangular gold-rimmed frames. He could imagine a John who could fly, who would be right beside him walking through the gate, and that hurt in places Rodney didn't even want to think about. "I won't make you say it. I can't say I'm gonna understand it, either. Not any more now than I could then."

"I want to say something to try to give you an idea, but I have bizarre OPSEC slogans in my head. It, John, what did you think of the Roswell tape?" It was a longshot, but if John thought he was insane, then... John thought he was insane.

"I thought it was a damn long way to try and justify the existence of aliens. The probability that only one planet in an infinite universe is the only one populated, and that they're all populated with humanoid types is just...It's unlikely. Not," John seemed to be considering it pretty seriously, "that I think the Roswell tape was in any way real. You guys -- Secret Service, CIA, FBI, whoever -- wouldn't just let something real walk out there for everybody to see, McKay."

"Sometimes we let a little bleed through for a red herring. Because no one expects us to let it out. Sort of brilliant reverse psychology." Like Wormhole Xtreme, but Rodney had seen the show and hated it with a passion.

He'd seen that look before; calculating, frowning, thoughtful. "Rodney, if you're implying to me that Independence Day was closer to the truth than anybody would like to believe..."

"Yes and no. We try not to let the marines fly anything that expensive. It's in retaliation for all of the Chair Force jokes." He rubbed his thumb over the inside of John's wrist, watching his eyes.

"You're insane." That hazel gaze was thoughtful, though, and Rodney knew how fast the wheels turned behind them. "And full of shit, McKay." The look on his face said otherwise, though.

"Well, all right. We let the marines fly helicopters," Rodney admitted, "and those are pretty expensive."

John's snit seemed to be over, pretty much, and his hand was on Rodney's shoulder, moving up to rub at his head. "You're crazy, then. Marines are all nuts, and they usually have the mistaken impression that they're some kind of major deity. I wouldn't let them fly anything bigger than a cropduster." He was quiet for a moment. "Whether I believe you or not, you need to get some rest. We can yell at one another about all this stuff later."

And maybe he'd get over it entirely by then.

* * *

Rodney was full of shit.

Roswell tapes. Just because John wasn't using his degrees to some sort of scientific bent instead of writing didn't make him stupid. Like aliens were going to shoot arrows at Rodney's ass. With what? Their tentacles? Ha.

It just riled him up. He'd put the plates away, put the skillet in the sink and filled it with soapy water, and then crawled into bed to nap for a while. Rodney had a stack of drugs -- painkillers, antibiotics, more antibiotics -- that was fairly impressive, and John blearily read the instructions, woke Rodney up long enough for him to take them, drink a little water, and set to pondering dinner and writing a little before he went back to sleep.

Mostly, though, his plans had been pretty straightforward.

He'd taken Rodney's duffel with him, and started pulling everything out piece by piece. That included a pair of socks that probably could have stood up on their own, underwear that had seen better days, and his cell phone, just to name a few things.

There hadn't been anything that pointed at aliens as part of his job description.

It was just boring shit. There was zip up case for some kind of portable hard drive, which John wasn't going to open up. There were spare clothes, and a uniform with some interesting insignia on it. He could google around later to serve his curiosity.

Socks and underwear found their way into his dirty clothes hamper, along with an undershirt, and he started to think about things to eat for dinner that could be eaten whenever. He'd made eggs for McKay several times now, and John was pretty sure he was probably sick of them. He had frozen lasagna in the freezer that he could put out and allow to thaw so that it wouldn't take as long to cook, and that seemed like the thing to do.

Decision made, John put the last of Rodney's stuff back into the duffel and headed back to the kitchen, humming along to the radio playing there as he set about trying to do something about dinner. Rodney slept and got up to eat and slept some more, so John was writing in between naps and food.

It was kind of relaxing, and not really disruptive to his routine. He hadn't asked to see the injury, but he figured that he would eventually. Rodney had promised he was going to get up and shower the next time he woke up and he'd probably wake up again soon, before the lasagna thawed. He started to flip through his outline notebook when the dufflebag started to play the Star Trek theme at him.

At least it wasn't that trashy Wormhole X-treme thing. McKay probably enjoyed it, too.

He picked up the phone and flipped it open, holding it to his ear. "This is Sheppard."

~"This is Colonel Carter, and I don't think this is your phone."~ Oh, wow. He kept expecting that Carter was a man, not a clipped-voice woman with too much smile in the notes.

"Well, aren't you just genius of the year." It probably wasn't nice to snark at McKay's commanding officer. The one who was too stupid to get herself out without Rodney, who then got shot in the ass. "It's McKay's phone, but he's sacked out in the guest room."

There was a little too much silence on the other end of the phone, and then John hear. "Oh. I thought he was going to a hotel -- look, I'll need your address for our files, Sheppard."

Ha. Like he was handing that over, no matter what. "Just because you're calling McKay doesn't make you somebody I'd trust with my address, lady. If I trusted every woman who called and claimed she was a colonel, I'd have more nutjobs on my lawn than I'm really comfortable with."

~"Look, I have no idea who you are, and one of my officers is staying with you. For the records, I need to know where he's staying. So I can prove that he's on sick leave and not AWOL."~

"That makes no logical sense. Either he's on sick leave or he's not, and from what I can tell, he's been shot in the ass, so that implies he is. Seriously. I'll give you the number for my PA. If you're legitimate, she'll give you the address." Because this woman sounded kind of proprietary about McKay, and what the fuck was that?

Commanding officer didn't imply owner. ~"Your PA. Your Personal Assistant."~ The woman repeated that and sounded like she wanted to laugh. ~"Seriously? McKay has friends who have personal assistants? Wow, the things you never know. Fine, fine, I'll take it. I just need to know where he's staying."~

Why the hell wouldn't Rodney know people with PAs? Rodney ought to have one, some little minion skittering around after him worshipfully the way that Fargo used to when they were in school. "Her name's Amy. You can reach her at 719-263-5555. If you can make it past her, then you're probably not a random nutjob." Except she sounded like it, if she was crazy enough to think McKay was some kind of possession. "Good luck." Even if he didn't mean it.

She gave an amused snort. "Tell McKay that I said 'hello', and that we're making progress on that side project he had with Zelenka. And please put his phone back wherever you found it."

"Yeah, whatever." John snapped the phone shut and scowled. He'd bet anything she was blonde with big boobs or something. Rodney had always had a weakness for that type.

John left the phone on the kitchen table, just to spite her, and he hoped the battery died soon, even if there was a charger in the duffle, too. Rodney's crazy supervisor and some guy -- and maybe John was assuming that wrong, maybe Rodney worked with an all female crew -- named Zelenka.

Zelempka. Whatever. John would bet money that Rodney had called him that a time or four. Or her.

Frowning, he moved to the counter and flipped through several radio stations before settling on one and starting to ferret things out of the refrigerator. First, the lasagna from the freezer, then extra cheese from the dairy drawer and field greens from the crisper. He was pretty sure he hadn't seen Rodney eat anything green yet, and it was probably past time.

Maybe he could even get Rodney to sit down in a chair, provided there was a lot of pillowing.

It was almost on cue that he heard the water in the guest bathroom cut on with a quiet sound of pipes filling with water.

Well. McKay was up, so if he really wanted to let that Carter person know he was at John's place then he could. How did he know Rodney didn't have stalkers of his own? Physics groupies weren't unheard of. How else did Nobel prize winners get gorgeous young blondes on their arms?

Well. Actually, John could think of a couple of them for whom the gorgeous young blondes were kids or grandkids all grown up. He still wondered if Rodney had toyed with heterosexuality, and he was going to have to ask him when he got out of the shower. At least him getting out of the shower meant he'd smell better, cleaner, and hah, he'd have to use John's fluffy soaps.

It made John smirk a little, mostly because the whole thing had been a joke Amy had perpetrated. Caffeinated soap didn't help wake him up, but the smell of the stuff was nice, and peppermint wasn't exactly a girly smell.

Mostly.

Deciding to go with the shorter version of the lasagna, he took a look at the directions and turned the oven on to pre-heat, pulling the top off of the thing loosely and then re-settling it the way the thing said. He went ahead and slid it in and closed the door, setting the timer for an extra couple of minutes past the minimum.

It was probably going to taste good, anyway, whether he charred it first or not. 

And then he and Rodney could... eat dinner and what? Argue over space aliens more. What did they even have in common anymore? It wasn't like they'd taken similar paths, and John could remember exactly what Rodney usually had to say about English majors and people with their noses in books. He'd been such an asshole when John read Anna Karenina that John had seriously considered stabbing him in his sleep, or at least using orange products to clean the bathroom.

The lasagna wouldn't be done for a couple of hours, so John figured that was plenty of time to make something else -- brownies or something, which made him feel ridiculously domestic, but what the hell. Dessert sounded like a great idea, and Rodney had always been a sucker for chocolate.

He heaved a sigh and tried not to grind his teeth. Okay, well, they still had sex in common, obviously, and John hoped that they would have chocolate in common. Those were a few things, a start, and so what if he felt like he was crazy to consider any of this, insane to let Rodney back in his life just to fuck it up again?

And he knew that was what was going to happen. He knew that it would just go to hell, even if Rodney had accidentally inspired him with another plotline, and even if Rodney was apparently too stupid now to see that the Air Force was using him.

"I don't think your caffeinated soap works," Rodney declared, coming into the room in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair damp and plastered down against his head.

"Not worth a damn," John agreed, "but I like the way it smells, so I get it anyway."

He looked good, still flushed from the shower and damp around the edges. It made John's pulse pick up a little, flutter.

They definitely still had sex in common, and John couldn't help but smile a little while Rodney shifted forwards into the room with an obvious limp. "It does smell good. How long have I been asleep?"

"Off and on since yesterday. I emptied your duffel so that I could wash the stuff in there. I'm pretty sure your socks tried to walk away when I wasn't looking."

"Sorry about that. I just threw everything in my locker into the bag and didn't think about my moldering socks." Rodney reached up, ran a hand through his own wet hair; no man with a receding hairline like that had any right to look that good when he did that. "Have I missed anything interesting?"

John shrugged, dragging out the brownie mix. He might as well confess, because Carter (whoever she was, and really, John was pretty sure she was exactly who she said she was) would inevitably find them. "Somebody named Carter called your cell, so I answered. I told her she'd have to run the Amy gauntlet before she could have the address."

"Oh." Rodney sounded more than a little surprised, and frowned down at the table. "You didn't tell her I was here having great sex, did you?"

The temptation to say yes was enormous. "I told her she'd have to verify who she was with my PA. She said she didn't think you knew the kind of people that would have PAs, and I gritted my teeth, just in case she really was your CO."

"Sam Carter, Lt. Colonel, genius, pain in my ass. Did she sound like she was a pain in my ass?" Rodney reached for his phone, flipped it open. "Oh yeah, that's her. I've been meaning to change her ringtone to the emperor's march for a while."

And they still had that in common, too. "She'll have to talk to Amy anyway. I'm making lasagna. And possibly brownies."

"Can I help?" Rodney had never been able to cook. Rodney was the kind of guy who was lucky not to catch his microwave dinners on fire, and always had been. "They made me take some survival courses and uh, well, I can make brownies in a tin can, so..."

"No. I figure we both want to be able to eat sometime today." John dragged out oil and measuring cups, turned to the fridge for an egg. "So. Yeah. Hi. It's nice to meet you when we're not..." About to have mad, mad sex.

Or shouting. Or surprised. Rodney made a quiet humming sound, and leaned his hip against the kitchen table. "Yeah. Nice to meet you when you're not so angry you could've boiled that latte with your eyes."

"Yeah, well, I've got fair reasons to be pissed." John sniffed. "So. Uh. I guess we should start back with the whole..." He waved a hand. "Getting to know you thing. That is, unless you're not wanting to get to know me, in which case I plan to call you an asshole and call the cops to make sure you leave fifteen minutes ago yesterday."

"When you call the cops, can you arrange it so my pants fall down while they try to handcuff me?" Rodney raised his eyebrows at John. "No, actually, I want to get to know you again."

"Okay then." Okay, and John felt a little limp at that, a little shaken, as if he hadn't really expected it. "Um. So." It felt weird and awkward, where coffee and sex and taking care of Rodney hadn't. "How do you want to....?"

"Let me help you make brownies or whatever you're planning on doing. And we can go back to catching up. It's been years and years. When did you move out here? How long did it take you to write your first book? Did you ever finish your degree?"

John paused as he dragged out a bowl and a spoon, shaking his head. "I stopped going to classes, if you want me to be honest. I was done with it six months after you left. They gave me an honorary degree later, not that it means anything like the other one would."

"I never thought..." Rodney waved one hand a little vaguely. "I didn't think I was worth that."

"Yeah, well." John licked his lips and drew in a deep breath. "I thought you were. And that's kind of the important part."

Rodney wasn't looking at him. "I... I have no idea how to make this up to you. I didn't know. I didn't... think."

"For maybe the first time in your life. That kind of sucked. Knowing there was something that meant..." More than John, meant that Rodney stopped thinking, meant a hundred thousand things. "Anyway. I figured, what the hell, I'd been humiliated in a hell of a lot more personal way by you leaving, so I sent in the manuscript. I tried to get back into classes, and about the time I started up, this guy called, said he was going to change my life, offered me a contract, and... uh, yeah. Things just went from there."

"And here you are," Rodney noted. "I can't even say anything about you not finishing your degree. I have two doctorates and I get shot at. It's done me a hell of a lot of good. I can't even own a cat because I'm away from home so much."

"Yeah, about that shooting thing..." John cleared his throat. "I'm not gonna be happy about that no matter how you feel about it."

"I'm not happy about it. But... I've made a lot of close friends. Now, I have the good sense to be horrified that I... I didn't realize what I was losing with you. It's not something that comes natively to me, and you know that. It's taken a lot of people smacking me around to get me there." Rodney thumbed through his cell phone for a moment more. "Oh, look. My ex-wife called, too. Beautiful."

Well. That answered that question. "Ex-wife?" John asked, almost twitching before he could stop himself. "I see you decided to try it straight."

"Tried, failed horribly." Rodney snapped his phone shut and slid it back onto the table. "I did it because I thought I should, and yes, yes, that's the dumbest reason to do anything but you know I've never been good with people and things like that, and she was sweet and I thought I needed to marry her, and we're still friends in that awkward 'I remember how bad the sex was and then you married a man I thought was having an affair with one of the male marines, so it wasn't a step up for you, was it' sort of way."

John blinked almost audibly and narrowed his eyes. "You've never done anything because you thought you should. What the hell possessed you to start?" Much less like that.

"Too many brushes with death. And she was sweet, I was miserable and lonely, and that combination was just a bad idea, isn't it?" No shit it was a bad idea, a bad foundation for anything at all.

"I wouldn't call it a good one." John started measuring everything out, trying to concentrate on that instead of on Rodney, or at least pretend like he was. "So. You like sweet, huh?"

"No. But she was willing to give me the time of day." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "That was part of the problem. We never argued."

And arguments always made Rodney extra hot, made him want to end things with an almost violent fuck, the kind where they shook and strained and came harder than was imaginable in so very many ways. "Huh. Yeah, I can see where that would be a problem for you."

"She never disagreed with me. She was too much of a peacemaker. Too... timid." Rodney shrugged. "Not that she was a mouse, no, she was passive aggressive and I shouldn't be saying that because if you ever meet her, you'd never be able to guess."

"You've never been good with the whole passive aggressive thing." John dumped the brownie mix into a bowl and began to stir the oil into it. "Just, you know. You like it when people get feisty."

"Yeah, well. You spoiled me. I was used to you telling me when I was making you angry or doing something you didn't like." Like, leaning in closer and eyeing the bowl like he was going to take a swipe of dry mix.

"Stick your finger in it and I'll rap your knuckles." He meant it, too, mostly because it was fun to watch Rodney snatch his knuckles back and suck on them. John got the pleasure of smacking him, and Rodney got the brownie mix. It all worked out.

"You wouldn't." Rodney said it and stuck his fingers in anyway. That was why John had a wooden spoon. He smacked them, enjoying Rodney's yelp, and then smirked because it was pretty gooey, even if he didn't have all the stuff in yet.

"I warned you."

"Sadist." Rodney smiled that even as he sucked at his knuckles and alternatively took bits of the brownie dust off of his fingers. With his tongue. He had to be doing that because he knew John was watching. "Which reminds me, where exactly do you get your groceries?"

"Oh, hey, yeah. The Scottish guy who hung up on me. There's a Sooper's I pick up some stuff at, and an organic place down the road. I see him at the other one, usually in the bread aisle. He seems kinda picky." John cracked an egg into the bowl. "I always thought he was nice before."

"He is. That's Carson Beckett. He was my best man when I married Katie." Oh, oh, hell, what kind of weird twisted world did John live in when it was that small? He'd been one person removed from Rodney for years now. Any minute, Kevin Bacon would come waltzing through the door.

"Oh, great. That's just... Anyway, so, that's where I shop and that's who he is, let's move on now."

"He's also your biggest fan ever and called me a heretic for not reading anything of yours. He also nearly crawled under the bed in humiliation after he realized you're that John Sheppard." Rodney leaned against the counter this time, looking uncomfortable when he did it. "Then I got the Don't ask, Don't tell lecture."

Huh. Well, that was... "Oh." Oh, because if he was giving that lecture, then obviously Rodney was thinking about John in a way that meant he'd needed it. "Oh."

"Mmm. So, you'll have to humor me if I beg you to sign one of his dog-eared books sometime. Which... I really, really never thought you'd become a writer, but I'm also proud of you for... tackling it like you have everything else you've ever taken on." Was that an apology?

John paused, holding still and then looking up at Rodney through his lashes. "Thanks. It was a lot easier than you'd think, in the end." Mostly him being pissy and writing out his fury and he didn't want to think about it.

He just did, even if Rodney's cell phone was lying beside his wire-bound notebook of scrawls and scribbles that laid in no real order. Sometimes he'd grab it and write on the wrong side of the page, sometimes he'd need it laid out like a landscape for family trees and timelines. It was just there. "Which I'm sure is why there's just one of you instead of forty thousand of you," Rodney shrugged. "Not that easy. I can wire anything together in my sleep, but if you asked me to write anything other than theory or diatribe..."

"Then we'd all be in trouble," John finished for him. He pulled down a pan and started to pour in the batter. "I have no idea what made me good at it. Mostly it was just... it had to get out." Plus, killing off the paramilitary asshole in the first book had felt really, really good. "So. There you go. That's pretty much everything. I wrote the first book, and then I wrote the second, and the third, and it just kind of went like that." In between, he'd dated a few assholes, showed up on the red carpet with the kind of pretty women his father had always hoped he'd married, and tried to forget Rodney.

It hadn't worked, but he'd tried.

It was sort of a warm comfortable plug nickel of schadenfreude that Rodney hadn't been able to forget him, either, through marriage and anything else he'd tried. "Huh. So you just... stay at home and try to write?"

"Yeah, well, that's... pretty much it," John admitted. He scraped the last of the brownie mix into the pan and set the bowl and spoon in the sink. "I mean, I make enough money to support myself and to pay Amy, so I figure I'd better write while I'm making money off of it."

"Can't blame you. I was just thinking that it sounds like a pretty nice life." Just because it didn't involve being shot at, John had no doubt, and his mind kept straying there. He wanted to see how bad it was, if Rodney was really just being the big baby he'd always been about pain.

"It has been," he said finally. "The self-discipline needed to sit down and do it every day is kind of a bitch. It pays the bills, though, and that's kind of what counts." He leaned back against the counter and turned to watch Rodney. "Lasagna won't be done for a couple of hours but I'm gonna slide the brownies in and let them bake."

"We could watch a movie for a while," Rodney suggested. "Or ruminate over your table. As long as you're not going to stare at me for sitting funny." That was low man on the totem pole for reasons to stare at Rodney just then.

Still, John nodded, slow and serious. "I swear I won't laugh. But, uh, I might ask you to tell me about the last twelve years. You know. Whatever isn't classified. And if you tell me you're working with aliens, I'm really gonna wonder about you."

"They're grey and about chest high," Rodney deadpanned at John, mouth quirking. "I managed to get another doctorate. Added mechanical engineering to astrophysics. If I had time I'd finish it off with an annoying grouping of electrical and computer but I didn't want to bore myself. And there was the divorce."

"And the marriage," John drawled, looking at him. "I'm guessing she was pretty. Blonde, big boobs? That's always made you a little excited."

"Actually, blonde with big boobs would be more like my CO. Katie was... petite, brown haired, flat as a pancake. Botanist." As if the scientific degree somehow justified a deviation from Rodney's well known pattern.

Decisively, John took the brownie pan in hand and went to slide it into the wall oven. "You always thought botany should be on the list with archaeology for not actually being a science."

"I want to add 'sociology', 'philology' and 'anthropology' to that list. No, the thing of it was that I met her at work. She's one of the civilians who works there, and it just... we kept running into each other." And Rodney had said he was lonely, and opportunity plus Rodney usually meant it was seized.

"Yeah. So, it didn't work out, you said. So, um. Been dating much since then?" Like it was any of John's business, really. It wasn't, not any more than it was Rodney's business who John might have been fucking in the mean time.

Rodney shifted, moved to finally pull out one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "No. You?"

"Here and there. You put nineteen guys in a lineup with one asshole and I'd pick him every time, so I kind of gave up on that." John shrugged, and moved to sit down across from Rodney. "It's a skill."

Rodney at least snorted, and leaned his elbows on the table. "What can I say? I bring out the best in people."

"That or self-defeating prophecies have kind of become my thing," John rallied. "It should have taken a lot longer to cover twelve years, shouldn't it?"

"That depends. What's the prophecy?" Him. Except, John couldn't say that because Rodney would just get that muted, wistful smile he gave a lot, and it would only push John close to him.

Maybe there were worse things.

"That whoever I've picked up is not only a jerk, but..." He moistened his upper lip. "But not you."

It was worth it for Rodney's stuttered expression, the way he leaned forwards a little, shifting on his hip. "So it's all right even if I am a jerk sometimes?"

"You being you makes up for a whole lot of you being a jerk," John admitted, because what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, more or less, and it wasn't like McKay couldn't tell what was on his mind. It was pretty obvious.

"I, uh." Rodney swallowed, seemed like he was fumbling in his head for a moment. "John, are we talking on the same level?"

This was probably one of the stupidest things John had ever done. "Maybe?" He really hoped Rodney wouldn't make him talk about feelings. John hated that, in more ways than one.

"We're both talking about giving, uh, us? Another chance, right?" Rodney wouldn't make him do more than say yes or no, unless Rodney's brains had turned to mush since he'd put that uniform on. While it was always possible, John didn't think it would actually work like that.

"Yeah. If.. I mean..." Yeah. That was what he wanted.

"I'm not going to run off again. I can't exactly take you to a MWR function, but honestly? It's watered down lemonade, in an attempt to kill me, and hotdogs with screaming kids, or it's weak coffee and screwy little muffin cupcakes, and you wouldn't want to be there smiling and shaking hands for a couple of hours while you pretend to care about your civilian counterpart's wife's bunions." Rodney shifted, and when he was done he was leaning in the other direction, on his other hip.

"Your ass is killing you, isn't it?" Anything so that they didn't talk about it. Then again, that might be what fucked things up the last time. "It's okay. Us not..." John waved a hand. "Talking about it. For now." It wasn't like they were going to go from hot sex to exchanging rings and domestic partnership overnight.

"Good. I mean, not that it's good that we don't, but I, I'm not good at it, so as long as we're on roughly the same page and in the general direction, I -- yes, my ass is killing me." He'd tried for years to get Rodney to say something like that. He'd asked once and Rodney had glared and uttered 'don't flatter yourself'.

Just hearing it made his day.

"You wanna go lay down in the bed and wait or maybe head down into the den or...?" Or something, because John had peeked at it when Rodney had been passed out. Rodney's ass didn't look happy.

It looked like he needed all of that bandaging. "I'm going to go lay down on your sofa. Please don't walk by and smack the wrong asscheek." Rodney started to stand up, slowly, hands steadying himself on the kitchen table.

"It's the left one, right?" John grinned at him, watching Rodney hobble to standing and begin to straighten himself out. He figured that Rodney had to ache from the knees up even after spending forever sacked out in his guest room.

"Right. I'll be passed out in here, and oh, my god, did you decorate this yourself? With your eyes closed?" Rodney disappeared around the corner.

Rodney was still the gayest person John knew. How his ex-wife hadn't figured it out... "I bought it this way, McKay. I haven't exactly had time to call in a design team."

"Have you thought about changing the curtains? Or stripping the walls? I think it was decorated by a twelve year old. I seem to recall Madison's sense of taste was just like this when -- ooh, nice sofa." He could hear the cushions squish down, just barely, when Rodney flopped down. "Uhmph."

"Yeah, exactly. The couch totally makes up for the wallpaper." And the kitchen had definitely been high on John's list of favorite things, all warm wood and stainless steel. He'd figured on getting somebody in to do something about the weird shabby chic wallpaper, but he didn't spend a lot of time in the living room. Most of it, he was in the kitchen or his office or the bedroom, and the master suite more than made up for the tacky girly thing the lady of the house had going on.

Obviously her husband couldn't face the grapes on the walls at night, either.

"Uhmph, I love your sofa." And John could... follow, maybe stick a movie in. Rodney's taste in movies couldn't have changed that much. So long as it wasn't Back to the Future and cool shit blew up, Rodney would pretty much be okay with it.

"How's T2 sound? I wouldn't want to subject you to anything less fun to mock with fewer explosions," John offered, strolling in to dig through the media cabinet.

"Oh, uh, I have nightmares about sentient shapeshifting robots already, but I like the idea of a world where they defeat easily, so yes, T2. It had that grit. Did you set a timer for the brownies?"

"Nah, but I checked the time, McKay. We've got another fifteen minutes to go." John shuffled the case out of its cardboard cover and popped it open, pulling the disc out and popping it into the DVD player.

"Mmm. This is better than a hotel," Rodney sighed into the pillow he'd snagged and was pressing his face against. The only problem was that he had all of the sofa taken up.

It had to be. He was getting better service. "You stay here. I'll bring you hot brownies when they're done." He wasn't sure how he'd been nominated to be Wilma Flintstone or whatever, but what the hell.

"You should sit down. I feel weird, like I'm eating into your day." That was just because Rodney had no idea how much procrastination John indulged in.

John shrugged and hit the buttons to start the movie, putting the remote in Rodney's hand. "You have no idea. If you weren't here, I'd probably be doing just what I'm doing right now, except I'd have my laptop out and be online doing... something." Playing with mailing lists. Searching to see what people were saying about him, even though that was a two-edged sword. He'd be procrastinating like hell, in any case.

"Killing time," Rodney declared, clutching the remote close in his hand and twisting his head so he could see the screen better. "You should still sit."

"If I sit down, I'll get distracted and burn the brownies."

"Will you sit down after the brownies?" Rodney shifted, stretched one leg out a little more comfortably for himself. The way his muscles moved under his sweatpants should have been illegal. If his ass didn't have a hole in it, John would have already pounced, and then some.

"Yeah. It'll be a while longer before the lasagna's done. You want something to drink?"

"Coffee? Whatever you have on hand. If you need groceries, my wallet's in the duffle bag." There was one last little shift, and John wished he could tackle that, because it was as if Rodney's ass was on display.

Deciding to leave the room before he did something stupid, John gritted his teeth and headed back into the kitchen to make coffee and check the brownies. He had several errands that needed running, but he could make a list and talk to Amy, see if she'd be willing to putter around for him. Maybe run down to the organic place down the road and get some stuff to tide them over for a few days. Rodney had always been kind of voracious.

It seemed like Rodney hadn't gotten any less voracious. Except now John had to be afraid of running into the guy who'd been Rodney's best man at his wedding, which was just... strange. Having some random guy yell at him all Scottishy over the phone was one thing. Meeting him in the bread aisle was kind of something else.

"You're missing stuff blowing up," Rodney called, and John got the coffee cups and poured.

"Keep your panties on, McKay."

"Best part." It was a mocking singing from the peanut gallery, but it was worth it to John. So, he had Rodney back. He had him back, wounded ass and all, and they had... something.

* * *

"Huh." Samantha Carter blinked at the phone in her hand for a moment before shaking her head and slipping it into the cradle. Colonel O'Neill was fidgeting with a Rubik's cube at her lab counter, probably because Daniel had been practically squealing over something SG-12 had brought back the previous afternoon. It was easier to hide in her lab, she supposed, all things considered. "I had no idea McKay knew John Sheppard. The John Sheppard."

"The John Sheppard?" O'Neill managed to look up and cock an eyebrow at her in full confidence that she was possibly insane. Considering the source, that probably ought to worry her a little more than it did.

"Yeah. You know. The John Sheppard. The author, the one who wrote the dinosaur novels? He includes a lot of math, actually, and he seems to have a fairly good grasp of high level mathematics and probability theory."

O'Neill went back to looking at the Rubik's cube; Carter was willing to bet that he'd peeled the stickers off of it once upon a time and that was why it hadn't worked since. "Oh, right. The gay guy. I heard a rumor they were making one of the novels into a movie."

What the... "Excuse me, sir?" Gay? John Sheppard was gay? And McKay was... Oh, hell.

"Yeah, I think they're getting that Keanu guy to play the lead character. I'd feel pretty flattered if I were him." O'Neill gave her a sideways glance. Okay. Don't ask, don't tell, don't pursue it with O'Neill. Or McKay, actually. And definitely not Daniel.

"Right. So. Um. I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened, sir. If that's all right with you." McKay was... Or maybe McKay wasn't, but really, that would explain the fact that he just didn't seem interested, or at least make it less insulting somehow.

It could have also explained what had gone wrong with Katie Brown, Carter decided in her head, while O'Neill gave a firmer nod. "Whatever floats your boat. I bet that doc in the infirmary's already asked for an autograph."

"Dr. Beckett? Oh. You know, he does tend to pick up the novels as soon as they come out." They'd talked about them a couple of times during routine exams. Sam took a deep breath and began to chew on her thumbnail. "I actually have a few things I need to drop off for McKay to work on while he's... incapacitated. Maybe you'd like to have something signed while I'm doing that?"

O'Neill tilted his head slightly, and set the Rubik's cube down on the table again. "I'll pass. Although, if he's a friend of McKay's, he's got to have a high tolerance for people being annoying."

"Well, there is that, sir." And then some, although Rodney wasn't as bad as he used to be, early on. "I'll, ah. I'll catch you later. If you don't mind..." Leaving her lab and heading out to Daniel's. Or something.

"No, by all means. I promise not to break anything. It's this or do reviews." Her review, probably, which meant it was time for her to take a walk to Daniel's lab. And not think about McKay's punctured backside.

Or where he was staying, with his gay author friend.

Not thinking about any of those things. At all.

Well. At least for now.

* * *

The hysterical part was that he hadn't wanted to be fucked so badly in a long long time, and he couldn't even do it. It was the perfect situation, one where he was forced to lie on his belly for long periods of time, and he couldn't even take the pressure of John's obscenely sharp hipbones. John needed to eat more brownies, but if he was eating brownies than he wouldn't have been lying on his back beside Rodney, smirking up at him while Rodney slowly jacked him off.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed this." He sounded drugged with pleasure, and it really wasn't any wonder. Rodney had spent most of the afternoon teasing him, playing with him, fingers deep from moment to moment. He'd backed him off of orgasm so many times it was a miracle John wasn't yelling at him.

As it stood, it was just kind of nice. Lazy, even if Rodney missed, desperately wanted John to fuck him hard and into the mattress. It was nice to just laze and do that, particularly after John had changed his bandage with an awful lot of grimacing. It was enough to make a guy wonder when the last time John had actually been injured was. It hurt, sure, but it was his ego that hurt the most. "A lot," Rodney guessed.

"Ohhh, yeah." Yeah, and John was rocking his hips up, up, up, head dropping back. "Seriously. I missed this... unbelievably." He was shaking, and his hands were balling into fists. "Oh, Christ, would you...."

"Suck you off?" Rodney moved, trying to shift a little so he could maybe, just maybe, actually do that without falling off the bed.

"Let me come." Let him come, and yeah, Rodney was going to do just that. He wanted to see it, wanted John to make those choked back sounds of pleasure that he remembered, wanted to see the flush chase all over him the way it used to do when it was really good. "Let me come, Rodney."

He squeezed John's dick, an easy motion from root to head, and shifted just close enough to press his mouth against the edge of John's parted lips. "I love how you look when you come."

John let out a shaky, hissed breath and turned his head, letting Rodney kiss him, long and lush and wet. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuu!!" He was close, and so Rodney stroked him again, quick and slick and tight, and John spilled over his fast, sharp gasps catching in his chest as he shook.

The way he came, milky whitish streaks over his fist, a few drops on John's belly and more headed that way, over his knuckles while Rodney stroked him off. It was always sensitive, but Rodney knew when to stop, when John made that sideways wiggle of his hips.

"Fuck." John was soft and vaguely blissful in the way Rodney remembered, that made him want to fuck him while he was loose-limbed and sprawling. "Oh God."

Rodney pulled his hand back, and wiped his fingers on the edge of the bed. "You're just slightly flushed and god I want to fuck you, but I can't think of how to position this..."

"If I thought you could get on your back for a while...."

Oh, pretty thought, fantastic idea. John, slicking himself up and sliding down on Rodney's dick just... yeah, that was a pretty hot thought. It might have to involve a pillow and his ass, but Rodney really liked the idea of that thought. "Yes, fuck, please do that, you have no idea how much I want to come right now."

"I've got a pretty good idea." John shifted his limbs and moaned, the residual pleasure probably still chasing its way across his skin. That was one of the things Rodney had always loved about John; how sensitive he was afterwards, how easy it was to make him come again and again and again, at least when they were younger. He squirmed and let his thighs sprawl open, soft cock shifting and making him hiss. "'m lazy, Rodney. A little more lube?"

"Mmn, you're just trying to get me even more worked up." Rodney was more than happy to oblige, smiling hard at John while he reached for the lube again. "You just like lying there and getting fingered."

John sighed and shifted himself so that Rodney could get at him a little more easily. "That's not exactly news, McKay." Definitely not, because he'd loved it years ago, and that probably hadn't changed.

Rodney felt his mouth pull up into a hard smirk as he squirmed back into position, sliding his fingers down along John's thigh. Smooth familiar muscles. "No, but it's still amaz--"

There was a slow ringing noise that seemed watery, too far away to be real because it had better not be real.

"Ignore it," John encouraged, moving, shifting, trying to get Rodney's fingers higher. "They'll go away."

Hopefully. Rodney fingered the muscles just to the inside of John's thigh, the beautiful tight cord that led up, and...

"No, but don't you live in a gated community?"

"Yeah, and whoever it is will go away." He sounded a little whiny, and really, Rodney couldn't imagine what John had to whine about. "Any...." There went that stupid ringing again. "God fucking dammit."

Rodney twisted, pressed his face against John's shoulder. "Fuck. Do you want to go get it?" He didn't want to. He didn't want John to go get it. He didn't want anyone to get it, but the ringing kept up.

"Jesus." John sighed and lifted his head, dropped it back on the pillow. "They're not gonna go away, are they?" The bell rang again, twice in a row. "I'll go see who it is. Get rid of them."

He didn't want to pull his hand back, but he did. It was going to be a shame to watch John get out of bed, shake off that delicious loose limbed ness. "I knew I should have put a gun in my duffle." Then John could have wiped the fingerprints off of it and at least blamed Rodney, which was actually something he wouldn't put past John.

Sheppard shot him a grin as he managed to crawl out of the bed. He leaned over and caught Rodney's mouth, kissing him, hot and sweet and wet. "I'll be right back," he murmured, snagging his pants off the floor.

"Yell if you need anything," Rodney offered, lolling onto his back with his eyes closed. No shirt. John was all loose limbed and just wearing pants, and god that was a beautiful sight. He had no idea what had made him lucky enough to actually stumble into John at Poor Richard's, but he was grateful for it, in so many ways.

He could hear John in the living room, could hear the door. He was talking to someone, and then the door shut and he was still talking to them. Dammit. So much for getting rid of whoever it was.

Rodney levered himself up and slowly started to do the looking for pants thing. John had probably invited missionaries into the house just to piss off Rodney's strained libido because of course John had come, so he was done and Rodney had to be punished for the doorbell or something.

There were voices, and then John was coming back in his direction, and he really didn't sound all that happy.

"McKay!" He was kind of loud, actually, and when he stepped into the bedroom, he looked damned grumpy. "There's this blonde woman in my living room."

Oh, great. That was going to be a bone of jealous contention. Rodney could tell.

"Dammit, I'd hoped it was Jehovah's Witnesses or Girls Scouts, complete with cookies." He had one leg into his sweat pants, and was awkwardly getting the other leg up. "Jesus."

"Come here." John took them away from him and knelt down to help him stuff his leg in them. "I'd have preferred that to this, if you want the honest truth. She looked at me like she's never seen coitus interruptus before."

Foot at the bottom, and the top really close to covering his sore ass, and Rodney felt so much better for the help. "Thanks. Tell me you didn't tell her what we're doing up here?"

Yeah, that was the don't-be-an-idiot look he'd been expecting. "Yes, Rodney. I told her you were about to pound my ass from here to homecoming. What do you think?"

"That I'm being paranoid, but yes, I am being paranoid." At least John hadn't pulled on the t-shirt of two unicorns fucking, that Rodney knew had to be a gift from the Personal Assistant who'd grumbled at him the day before and then seized John for an hour or two while Rodney had napped.

"Look. She probably smelled it on me, and I'm a hundred percent certain she'll smell it on you. So, I'm going to go in the kitchen and I'm gonna make coffee and, I don't know. Fume." John scowled at him. "And watch you."

"And watch me?" Watch him why? What was there to watch him for? He could hardly get walking, and the idea of stairs was horrifying just then, but John did have the more comfortable bedroom, so... So there they were.

"Don't think I've forgotten how much you liked that blonde floozy who sat in front of you in the last physics class we had together."

Of course. That made about as much sense as anything else right at the moment, all things considered.

"Yes, because I've developed a sudden urge to -- no, no, we can play this argument after she's gone." He pulled his t-shirt on, moving as fast as he could, given the circumstances. "And please help me down the stairs."

John rolled his eyes, but he waited for Rodney, and he helped him once they got to the head of the stairs. "Seriously. I'll be making coffee. And I might poison some cake for her. I don't think that's uncalled for, do you?"

"Not after all of that doorbell ringing, seeing as I was getting some sleep," Rodney declared, as obnoxiously as he could when they set foot on the bottom landing. He was lucky that John hadn't tried to tickle him on the way down.

"Yeah, well. You were getting something, anyway," John muttered, and gently prompted him in the direction of the living room. "I'll be in the kitchen, McKay."

"Thanks." Rodney hobbled off on his own, one foot in front of the other, until he saw a blonde head look up from the sofa he and John had spent a lot of time lazing on. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Hi, McKay." Carter looked uncomfortable, which was really a shame. That was an amazing couch. Maybe it was the decor. "I, ah, I brought a few things for you to look over. While you're recovering."

"I've been doing a lot of sleeping. What kind of quality of work are you looking for here?" Rodney hobbled closer, moved to sit down beside her on the sofa.

"Oh! It's just some preliminaries concerning the coding from one of our recent projects. Since we're not yet ready to begin serious studies, I was hoping that you might take a look at it and see which direction would be the best for, well. Furthering our knowledge base." Her eyes were big and blue and hopeful. Something slammed angrily in the kitchen, and she jumped a little, frowning. "Is he...?"

"Down in the kitchen making a bizarre amount of noise? Yes, yes he is." Rodney leaned a little, trying to see if he could see what was going on. "How urgent is this? I'm on leave."

There was that insanely hopeful look again. He was kind of a sucker for that look, not because of Carter, but because Sheppard had always gotten that same kind of hopeful expression before sex. It was Pavlovian. "You're usually happy to have something to keep you occupied, Major."

"I'm on leave," Rodney reiterated, "and while I'd be happy to do it, there'd better be something funny going on with my timecard if I lose leave time and work."

Carter almost seemed hurt by that. "I. I just. You've always preferred...."

Something else slammed in the kitchen.

"To be busy, yes, I know. I do. And if it's urgent and needed, I'll absolutely look at it, but I'm looped out on antibiotics and painkillers, my ass hurts, and did I mention I was shot in the ass with an arrow, and that Beckett's threatened to preserve the head in a jar?"

The way hurt flashed across her eyes was just wrong. It wasn't as if they had ever actually done more than flirt harmlessly, and Rodney had always thought it was crazy O'Neill that made her panties wet. Not that he ever thought about what made that happen if he could help it. "Of course. Then I'll just take everything back with me."

Oh, hell. "No, fine, just -- just give me the data and I'll see what I can do with it."

The way her mouth curled up, a false bravery in it, made him feel even more guilty. "Thank you, Major. I'm sorry to have come and... Well."

"Yes, well, I'm irritable and in pain. I'll go over it, and shoot my response to you and the Czech." Radek. Radek something, and he really only reliably remembered his first name because he'd called him 'Radish' once and been very sharply corrected.

"Okay. Thank you," Carter replied, and stood uncomfortably. "I'll, ah. I'll take my leave, then. If you need anything at all, just call the base and I'll take care of it, Major."

He took the disc from her, nodding and shifting quickly as he could to stand, because that hurt. Someone would need to lock the door behind her, and Rodney had a sneaking feeling it wasn't going to be John. "Right, I'll keep that in mind."

"Of course." Carter was moving towards the door, at last, and that was a good thing. The closer she was to the door, the less likely John would kill her before she actually managed to escape.

"I'll see you in probably a week," Rodney told her, hobbling after her as fast as he could, and seriously, he was going to need that week at the level his stamina wasn't.

She paused at the front door, batting those baby blues. "I'll see you then, Major. I'm really sorry if..." Yeah, and John was being scarily quiet. He was probably planning Carter's death.

"He just doesn't like having people invade his lair," Rodney excused as best as he could. "Have a good day, Colonel Carter."

She nodded, and once she was out the door, he closed and locked it behind her, practically slumping with relief. Thank God. He'd managed to get her out before John came in with a butcher knife.

"John?" Jesus. If the slamming noises hadn't been enough of a giveaway that it was past time for Carter to leave, no, she had to linger and make those faces at him.

The refrigerator door shut -- more calmly, it was true, but hard enough that it made Rodney wince. "Making coffee," came the yell, and yeah, he probably was. He was most likely planning on pouring it over Carter's head, so it was a good thing she was gone.

"Carter's left." Not that it probably mattered, so Rodney started the long hobble over real wood floors back to the kitchen.

"Good. I won't have to boil the cup when she's gone, then." John was there in the doorway now, and the sullen pouty thing he had going was... okay, yeah, it was still pretty hot. Even if he didn't seem to know it.

His mouth was pulled down hard at the corner, and even his eyes seemed to be sulking at Rodney. "Well, it would have been a chance to use the autoclave you have stashed under the countertop, but it can wait."

The look John shot him was worth it, really. "Ha, ha. Very funny, McKay. Just for that, I might go out and get one, so I can be sure you're not passing military type germs onto my silverware." And then he stuck out his tongue, which was pretty damned childish, but also amusing.

Rodney set the disc on the countertop and smirked back a little. "What was with all of the slamming out here? I thought you'd taken up breakdancing."

"Nah. Just getting rid of some aggression. It was that or march in and tell your CO that she'd interrupted hot gay sex and I was really hoping she'd get lost."

"You're jealous of her." It was a guess, sure but it wasn't that far of a logical leap.

"What gave you that idea, McKay?" John was pouring him coffee, and handing it over without pouring it on him, thank God.

Rodney had half expected John to pour it over his wrist in some kind of revenge. "The slamming and the fact that you still look like you could kill. So, she wants me. So what? I can honestly tell you that she only wants what she can't have, which includes her own CO, and not anyone she could have, which points to some kind of therapy-requiring issue more than anything."

That seemed to make John a little happier, even if it wasn't by much. He scowled at Rodney and then shook his head. "I just..."

"She did interrupt mind-blowing sex," Rodney agreed over top of John, sipping at the coffee. "And then demanded I do volunteer work for her."

"Can I shoot her?" That perky demand was almost obscene. "Well, not her, but maybe a blonde chick just like her in the new novel?"

"Uh, wow, yes?" That was a new perspective to writers that Rodney had never particularly wanted or expected, but why not? "Do you usually do that?"

John grinned, then, and even if he still wasn't exactly happy, at least he wasn't going to kill Rodney. "I killed you three times. Well. Okay. The last time, I just maimed you for life."

And he had a feeling that John meant it. "Are you kidding? This is why I don't read."

"C'mon, Rodney. It's not like I named the guy McKay or anything. And like you'd be caught dead as a paleontologist."

"No, but apparently I died as one." He shifted back a little, eyeing John's easy grin. "Who else did we know that you killed off?"

The conversation seemed to be settling John down some. He tossed some kind of frothy creamer in his cup, ruining perfectly good coffee, and then settled down in one of the chairs. "Remember that asshole dean? The one who said you were the best thing ever to happen, who always thought I was a waste of space?"

"Yes, that one. The one who even I thought was an asshole, and stupid, because how he could reach that level and still lean that hard on students to prove his pet theories was beyond me..." Rodney moved to sit down, comfortable with balancing his body on one hip or the other.

"Yeah. I let him get eaten by small, hungry dinosaurs. And I killed him in the last one, actually. You know. At random. Still feels kind of good. Oh. And my last lab partner."

And John smiled while he said all of that, which was in turns disturbing and attractive, and Rodney decided that sipping at his coffee again was a good idea. "So... Does it relieve stress?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," John admitted, and grinned at him. "But I figured of the two of us, you'd be the one most likely to figuratively kill somebody."

"Who do you think I am, Rambo?" Except, yeah. He did have to shoot at people, but Rodney didn't usually think of them as people, and oh, god. Wasn't that one of the warning signs?

"Well, you looked pretty hot in those pants you were wearing that first night. BDUs are kind of great for your ass, and since it's always been one of my favorite parts of you...."

"They're comfortable, too. And yes, you shouldn't have to iron them, but you really have to." He put his elbows on the table, and took another sip of coffee. "But my pants don't make me a killer. The most I do is fix equipment."

John looked up at him, all solemn hazel-gold eyes and serious expression. "I didn't call you a killer, McKay."

"Right, well, maybe that was guilt talking. I don't know. It might have been the hole in my ass cheek talking." He shifted, carefully resting his weight on his other hip.

"Yeah, might have been. I was mostly bitching about people shooting at you. Seriously, Rodney. Whatever happened to winning a Nobel and not getting your brains splattered all over the place?" John shook his head. "I just... You know."

"Disappointed, surprised, yes, yes." Rodney waved his hand slightly as he took another sip off of his coffee. "I know. But the work I'm doing is, I wish I could explain it."

"Yeah, I wish you could explain it, too," John drawled, standing up to rummage in the refrigerator. Obviously he'd had something in mind when he'd been slamming the refrigerator door earlier.

"Yeah, well. One day it'll be declassified and you'll be amazed at me," Rodney decided, leaning a little. "What're you doing and can I help?"

"I thought I'd put together a couple of turkey sandwiches. Since we're, you know. Taking a break, what with the visitor and all."

"You should be happy that she killed my libido. It, she killed the urge for sex with her mere presence," Rodney reiterated. not getting up after all because John could make a great turkey sandwich all without help.

"Yeah, well, she didn't exactly do any favors for mine, either." There was mayonnaise, and lettuce, turkey, and Rodney started to say something, but then John pulled out Miracle Whip, too. Thank God he didn't have to remind him about the lemon thing. "So, I figured you'd be hungry."

A snack break might be in order." Rodney glanced to the countertop and the disc. "I guess I'll have to give that a look over later."

He saw John's jaw tense. "Yeah, well. If that's how you want to spend your recovery time...."

And there he was, caught in a jealous tug of war between John and Colonel Carter. "It won't take long. This is really just a check to see if the program is flawed."

"I'll just bet it is. Do you always do this when you've been shot in the ass? Work on stuff when you're whacked out on painkillers?" And too much great sex. There had definitely been that.

"Usually? Actually, yes. Yes, it is. Usually I've been injured in the midst of some large scale disaster that we get caught up in, which happens too often, and I can't do downtime, so I have to work in whatever state I happen to be in. It's better when it's painkillers and uppers at the same time. I haven't killed someone with a mistake yet," Rodney added, knowing that he was baiting John, but hell. What else was he supposed to do?

The way John eyeballed him over the top edge of his glasses kind of made him hot. "Yet being the operative term." He was busy with the butter knife, spreading Miracle Whip out to every outer edge of the bread.

"No, and there probably will be a day that, that that level of absurd mistake slips past me, I'm not denying it. I really can't deny it." Which was miserable, and he knew it was miserable, but that was the nature of the business. There was no... stopping, no end. If they stopped, if he took too long off, if he said 'No' when he could've said yes, they could all die. Not that he was that integral, but, yes, yes, he actually was, and they'd gotten through with the skin of their teeth enough times.

"But what you're doing..." He watched John lick the blade clean, and that really should be disgusting. It should be. "What you're doing's so amazing and important that you figure it's worth that kind of risk. They must figure it, too."

"Yes, so my occasionally crazy CO hunts me down when I'm on leave to give me CDs to look over," Rodney agreed. "And one day when it's declassified, your jaw will fall off."

"Yeah, I'll just bet it will. What was that you said you were working on, anyway...? Oh, that's right. You haven't even given me the cover story." Because John wasn't stupid. That was a constant in the world, despite so many of Rodney's scientific laws, which seemed to be made just for breaking.

"There's no point in giving you a cover story, John. You're not a moron. Jeannie didn't buy it, either. Can you really see me doing deep space telemetry for NASA?" There was boring, and then there was mindless signal processing.

"About the only thing I can see you doing is building the really big bombs. Well, or maybe making sure they go off and don't when they should." John had to remember that one incident with the chem lab and the asshole who kept trying to bone his way into Rodney's experiments.

"I still know those tricks pretty well," Rodney shrugged, eyeing the cd. "Look, I'll tackle them later. After lunch. The sooner I get it done and over with the sooner it's not looming over my head."

There was another of those looks, and seriously. John could be evil when he wanted to. "You can see it after you eat your sandwich and after you've slept a while. Don't make me boss the hell out of you."

"I feel bad that I'm distracting you from your work. Your writing." Rodney waved a hand slightly, but then John was coming towards him with a sandwich. He was only half sure that he wanted to eat anything John was going to give him when he was that angry.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be pissy enough for writing while you nap." Definitely pissy, because Carter had obviously given him a streak of damn mean. Not mean enough that he'd opened the mayonnaise, though. Thank God. "I'll get over it."

Or, he'd hold onto it for eternity. Not that Rodney had a leg to stand on in that argument, since if he ever found that boy who gave him a wedgie when he was five, he'd break the guy's nose, but Rodney at least wasn't going to pretend John was a saint. It was a waste of time. "Carter is... well, it's a long story. With a lot of pieces, and none of them make sense retrospectively."

John sat down across from him, and, whoa. Sharp knife, even if it was just cutting the sandwiches into diagonal halves. "I'm sure you'll come up with a reasonable explanation. Given time and opportunity. So." He licked a thumb free of Miracle Whip and handed Rodney his plate with the other. "I'm thinking of having her eaten. By small toothy aliens. Whatta you think?"

"I can't say that it'd surprise me. I might make you attend the funeral if it ever happens." Rodney accepted the plate, and if he scooted his chair back an inch, well, that was all right. That was part of showing John that he was at least sorry, like showing his belly if he were a dog.

John munched into his sandwich, watching Rodney carefully. "So. You're gonna work on whatever that was. But it's nothing that's gonna blow up the house, I guess, so I can't complain."

"Right. It's a data feed from some simulations, so the hardest part is going to be staying awake while I read it," Rodney admitted, reaching for a piece of his sandwich.

"You could always put it off. I mean, it's not like you don't need the rest, and..." And. Rodney would still be uncomfortable if not for the fact that Carter made him go soft.

"Getting it over with is best. That way I can shoot her an email and the likelihood that she'll be back is low." Rodney lifted his chin, eyeing John while he took another bite. "I promise."

"You promise." John didn't say anything else. He just nodded. "Okay."

"You don't believe me," Rodney guessed, staring at him after he swallowed another mouthful.

John leaned back in his chair and munched his own bite down. "I might. In another six months or so."

Rodney snorted, nibbling away at a piece of crust. "Well, six months from now I hope not to be freshly shot in the ass again, so..."

"So, we'll see in six months then, I guess." John fidgeted a little, and Rodney recognized it. It was the fidget that said he was lying because he'd give in to Rodney if it really came down to it.

"She's nothing more than my boss, John. I mean that. She's my commanding officer, and okay, I had a crush on her when I first met her, but I've worked with her long enough that I've seen a lot of unflattering sides of her and she's not my thing."

Definitely not his thing, although apparently deciding that she wasn't what he wanted was a fair indication of turning her on. John shrugged and kept munching on his sandwich. "You always liked blondes with nice tits," he said finally, but then he paused. "Yeah. Okay. You were pretty weirdly uncomfortable."

Finally, an admittance that he hadn't been falling all over her, when he hadn't been. "We were just upstairs being well past comfortable, and then she showed up out of the blue, and not only killed the mood but batted her eyes at me. Of course I was uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well. Still gonna have doubts about you for a while. All things considered." John stretched out in his chair. "I don't think anybody can blame me, really."

"No, no, I don't blame you. I'm just... glad you gave me another chance." And a place to stay, and John had no idea how good it was to just sleep and eat and rest with another human being as company.

"Then let's not talk about it anymore, 'cause in all honesty. Talking about it kind of sucks, and I'd just as soon not. You know? We should, uh. Finish the sandwich, Rodney. Just. We'll..."

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm used to a lot of talking and doing now, so... yeah." It wasn't so hard to put food in his mouth and chew.

"Yeah." John seemed to relax then, or at least let go, which was more than Rodney had really expected, if he was honest with himself. "So." He licked his lips and munched into his sandwich again, as if that was somehow enough.

Rodney really hadn't missed these awkward moments.

It happened, it was normal. But Rodney never knew what to do, so he stretched one leg out carefully and bumped the side of John's leg. "Can we just pretend that this interruption didn't happen?"

John shifted, pressing his knee back against Rodney's. "Sounds like a plan to me. Best idea I've heard yet."

He finally relaxed, smiling lazily at John. He was still in pain, still tired and still half revved up sexually, but it was good to be there. "Right. Do you want to try watching a movie after this, or head back upstairs? And by the way, this is a fantastic sandwich."

A little bit of sucking up never hurt anybody. Especially not when John was taking him back despite the whole being a pissy bitch part.

"Sounds like a plan to me. I've got a copy of Pi we can make fun of. Or, hey, we could go straight to the pointing and laughing part without any math. I'm pretty sure I've got a copy of There's Something About Mary."

"Both." Rodney paused, wiping Miracle Whip from the corners of his mouth whether it was really there or not. "There's enough room in the world for mocking people who try to make math have a low-level broad appeal, and for semen as hair gel."

John smirked. "'s kinda what I thought when I picked 'em up. I'd offer to race you, but I figure it wouldn't be fair." He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and stood up, still chewing. "'mon."

"You know me too well." Scooting the chair back was hell, Rodney decided, but. He'd been fed and all right, sex was going to take some time to get back to, but at least John didn't seem likely to slit his throat in his sleep.

He wasn't surprised when John came around and helped him up, although maybe a little. Especially when John kissed him, still tasting like lettuce and Miracle Whip and turkey. That shouldn't have been as hot as it was. Ever. "I'd like to get to know the important parts I missed."

Which was funny, because he hadn't thought John had missed anything. Other than the huge miscommunication between them, but it could've been worse, Rodney knew. John had listened, let him back., and Rodney leaned into the kiss under the guise of needing to lean on John to stay standing. "I don't know if I should claim to be too deep to ever know, or that you already do know the important parts. Which one is less assholish?"

"You're about as deep as bath water, McKay." The teasing curve of his mouth under Rodney's felt good. "C'mon. You can even win if I let you go up first."

"You just want to watch my ass up the stairs," Rodney decided, pulling away from John. "But I'll take that wager."

"Get your ass up the stairs, Rodney." John pushed him a little, encouraged him along the way.

And really. He had movies and possibly sex waiting for him in the bedroom. Who was he to deny himself something so great?

* * *

John had really missed Rodney's ass.

He'd missed it before they'd met again. He'd missed it when he'd first gotten a good look at it again.

He'd really missed it while there was an arrow-starred hole in it.

There was still a hole, but it was mostly healed, except for a puckered mark and some deep scabbing that John was avoiding, but Rodney could move and walk and get shot at or whatever it was that he did through the week when he was at work.

Maybe, if he was careful, he could do a little more than carefully avoid that deep scabbing and the puckered mark. If Rodney was interested.

John had gotten up early and made the effort of breakfast -- oatmeal and toast and scrambled eggs, even though Rodney claimed he hated oatmeal. Rodney claimed he hated a lot, and that was mostly just for show. John had already seen him eat the damned oatmeal two mornings ago when he thought John wasn't watching.

And Rodney would eat it again, he knew. Muttering, sure, but enjoying it, saving the raisins for last and drinking the milky goo left of it. He wasn't sure how to court Rodney around to his idea, was all.

For all that he was getting around okay, and sitting on his ass in normal ways... Well. He gave John dirty looks if he so much as touched the opposite cheek. For a man who'd always liked a good hard ass-fucking, he was being as ginger about things as somebody's maiden aunt.

And that just... wasn't Rodney. That was Rodney, post arrow in the ass, still dealing with his issues about injury and functioning. Seriously. What did he think? That John wasn't going to be damn gentle about his ass?

Moving to the stairs, he glared up them for a minute. "McKay! Get your ass down here for breakfast!"

"Coming." Rodney sounded groggy and even when he crawled out of bed at five am out of some sick ingrained response to his work schedule, he sounded tired.

"I'd say you need to get more sleep, but I know for a fact you passed out on me sometime around midnight, McKay. You want me to add anything to your eggs? Cheese, tomatoes.... Something like that?" The fact that he dragged his ass up at that ridiculous time of the morning really kind of pissed John off, mostly because it meant he was awake.

"Meth? Actually, Tomatoes sounds fantastic." Rodney tottered at the top of the stairs for a moment, scratching at his side. "How dare you look so hot this early."

John stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked off some of the tomato juice. "It's all to encourage you to come around to my way of thinking." The way of thinking that included him fucking Rodney's gorgeous round ass, even if it had to be very carefully.

"What're you thinking about?" Rodney started down the stairs, rubbing at his forehead.

"You. Me. What happens after breakfast." John grinned up at him. "I've got lube in the basket on the table. You know. In case you were interested. Later."

"Lube," Rodney repeated. "Is this a hint? Is it going to be arranged with those little jam things you clearly lifted from an IHoP?" He stumbled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"If it'll make you happier, sure. It tastes like cake batter, so it'd be kind of appropriate. So long as we don't pick up the wrong one." He couldn't help being hopeful, strolling closer to him, tilting his face down a little to catch Rodney's mouth. He'd brushed his teeth, and he tasted minty and a little tart. "Mmmm."

"Jam and sex is less fun in reality than in books," Rodney agreed, leaning back into John and catching his bottom lip with a gentle nip of teeth. "Remember when we tried it? I think I farted sticky grape jelly for days."

"Was your idea. Bad one," John murmured, and kissed him again. "Good thing we couldn't figure out a way to get the maple syrup out of the cafeteria, huh?"

"If you were trying to set me up for some bizarre Canadian joke, you over-estimated how awake I am." But he was awake enough to be kissing John back, hands wandering to the waistband of John's pants. "Sex sounds good, and so do eggs."

"Then c'mon. We'll eat first. I'm pretty much starving, and the oatmeal's gonna congeal if we leave it waiting. You bitch enough about it without that happening." It didn't stop him from pushing a leg between Rodney's, just enough to apply pressure.

"This isn't conducive to me getting to the oatmeal." Rodney wanted it, John could tell, because he lingered, he pushed his hips against John's thigh. "Tease."

"Yeah, well. You're the one who's been kind of paranoid about your once-perfect ass." He reached down and gently squeezed the uninjured cheek. "But I can be careful. Promise. Careful as you want."

"And you'll wear a condom and you swear I won't get pregnant?" Rodney demanded, smirking at him while he pulled back a little.

"And if I knock you up, I'll even promise to be a man about it. Stand by you. Marry you. The whole nine yards."

"Until the next pretty thing with a round ass comes around." Rodney curled fingers against his hip, and exhaled slowly. "Yeah, let's get breakfast first and then move on to the uh, main course."

"Mhm." Sounded like a damn good idea to John. "Yeah, well. I like pretty things with round asses. They're kinda high on my list, in all of the good ways." He patted Rodney's hips and moved back to the counter, dropping some nuts and raisins into the oatmeal bowl. "Here. Add your own tomatoes."

"You already cut them. That's so..." OCD, actually, but Rodney didn't finish that thought as he reached for them

"Sweet?" John prompted. "Thoughtful? Way too aware of your breakfast preferences?"

"That last one." Yeah, and whatever it was Rodney was going to add, he swallowed while he added the tomatoes. He canted his head, peering at John. "I'm heading back to work soon. That doesn't mean I'm not, that we won't, I mean, I work weird hours but so do you so that should work."

"By weird hours, I assume you mean that you sleep at some irregular time in the day when you aren't getting shot in the ass." John couldn't help frowning. It was Rodney's ass, for Christ's sake. "And I'm figuring you're not gonna be here every night or anything, since you'll be off having your ass shot."

"Right. We have missions at weird times. Alignment of the stars and all that." Rodney leaned in against John a little, peering at what he was doing. "And sometimes they go wrong."

"Yeah, that's a big surprise, there." Hello. There was a hole in his ass. John wasn't letting go of that one anytime soon. "I hope they at least go right often enough that we'll be having breakfast on occasion."

"I might work the schedules just so we can do this more often," Rodney sighed, and maybe breakfast wasn't going to happen, because he was kissing the side of John's neck, just beneath the hairline.

So what if breakfast got cold? Turning Rodney down for oatmeal seemed kind of stupid, so John tipped his neck to the side and turned his head and captured Rodney's mouth.

"Mm." Rodney let a hand linger down to John's side, digging at the bottom edge of his t-shirt. He hadn't had it on for very long, and it wouldn't bother him if they used it to wipe up afterwards. Hell, it wouldn't matter to him if they had sex on top of his clean laundry so long as they actually had sex.

He missed sex, because that first night back with Rodney had been Oh, jesus fuck, level of good, and the foreplay and jerking off and blowjobs they'd done since then had been fantastic, so John knew he still wanted the good sex. "Upstairs?"

"Screw upstairs," John muttered. "I vote for the breakfast table." It was a hell of a lot closer, and... "If you bend flat over it, there's no way I'll hit close to the hole in your ass. Well. The unnatural one, anyway."

"Let's just call it the not-fun hole," Rodney decided, reaching loosely for the lube that John had slipped in with the jams.

"'s my least favorite one," John agreed, shifting to push everything away from the edge of the table even as Rodney pulled him back and pulled the shirt over his head. "But I kinda wanna play with the other one."

"I appreciate that you still think like you're six," Rodney sighed, dropping the t-shirt onto the floor. "I can't say much, I'm, what, seven?"

"Seven's kinda pushing it," John disagreed, reaching for Rodney's pajama bottoms.

"Good pushing it, bad push... oh, that's the good pushing." Rodney moved his hips from side to side, trying to be helpful.

"That's kinda what I thought." It didn't take much effort to tug the tie, and the bottoms were pretty loose. That hip shimmy pretty much resulted in exactly what John wanted -- a very naked Rodney McKay, at his mercy.

Not that Rodney didn't want to be there, but he liked the idea of Rodney at his mercy. Rodney was in the Air Force, and he was stronger than he used to be, but he still wanted John to fuck his ass despite the wound to it. "It's not fair to still be dressed."

"Yeah, well, it's just pajama pants. And I think we can get rid of those pretty easy." His fingers were already shifting, moving, stroking down Rodney's thigh and around the curve of his ass to explore further back, slide into the crack and tease.

He wanted to laugh when Rodney leaned forward on the table and just sprawled himself, shoving his ass back against John's attempts to tease. "I like easy."

"You are easy." Well, not so much, but he was hot, and the way he moved, spread his legs, left him open for John. He reached for the lube and popped the cap on it, squeezing it so that it pooled just at the top of Rodney's crack. It was cold, and the protesting whine Rodney gave made John smirk. "Sorry."

"Bullshit." Rodney shifted almost anxiously, as if that squirm of his ass was going to make the lube warm up. He stretched his hands out, shifting the tasteful wicker basket that Amy had bought him one year.

"Okay, yeah. Not really." He was smearing it down into Rodney, though, sending his fingers to search and caress and find that one perfect spot. "I'm glad you decided it was worth it. Me being careful of your ass, I mean."

"Actually, I imagined one of my coworkers telling me not to be a pussy. It's not like we haven't done this before, and I appreciate the glazed bevel on the edge of this table..." 

And then Rodney reached back with one hand, pulling his good asscheek to the side a little.

That was just hot, and it made John take in a deep, shuddering breath. "Jesus, that's just..." Yeah. Hot, and he rubbed his finger at Rodney's asshole for a second before pushing the tip inside.

His hand was close to the tips of Rodney's half-assed -- and that was a joke he wasn't going to be able to shake or coherently explain to Rodney without getting kicked in the shin -- attempt to make himself open for John. He wanted Rodney to slide his fingers in, too, just for the sight of it, and maybe later. Maybe they'd get that chance later, because Rodney playing with his own ass always made John shake.

"Just like that," he murmured, and pushed the first finger in further, leaning down to press his mouth against Rodney's spine, between his shoulder blades. "Fuck, that's perfect."

"Remind me of this the next time I get antsy about it. It's just... been too damn long." Rodney pressed his face against the table, left cheek on smooth polished wood, because John could look up the line of Rodney's body and see his cheek, ear, those occasionally absurd eyelashes. Those didn't make him hot. They just made him want to kiss Rodney, be gentle and easy with him.

He'd remind him. He'd do whatever Rodney wanted, really, and the slow, easy slide of that finger was a pleasure in and of itself. "Like this?" he asked finally, leaning up and sucking lightly at the back of Rodney's neck.

He heard Rodney's shaky exhalation, felt him shift his shoulders as a prelude to an unsteady rocking of his hips against John's fingers. "C'mon, put it in, John."

One finger wasn't enough. Not in John's opinion, anyway, not when he'd waited for this and wanted to get as much out of his enjoyment as possible, so he shifted, pulled the first finger mostly out and slid in two. He felt the way Rodney breathed in somehow, felt the twitching tightness when he got it all the way inside. "Soon."

"This is just a diabolical plan to make me beg for your dick," Rodney sighed, flexing his fingers enough that John could feel the knuckles brush his own hip.

"Yeah, well. I think it's dirty when you beg me for my dick. It's one of my favorite things." Yeah, definitely that, and John reached down, plucked at the tie of his own pajamas and let them drop to his ankles. "Almost ready?"

"Yes. Yes, just do it slowly and I think I'm more than ready." Rodney rolled his hips, a nice slow motion.

Yeah. That was enough to make John give up on adding another finger. He pulled them out and shifted Rodney, moved him into position so that he would have a better angle and be less likely to hit the wound higher up. "Here." John reached down, took his cock in hand, and positioned himself, rubbing the head over Rodney's hole.

"Ohh, fuck, please, John. Just push it in, stick your dick in..." Rodney leaned into it just enough, just enough to make John want to fuck the idea of going slow, and just do it.

He managed to hold onto his will power, though, and when he pushed, it was slow, slow, steady and solid. He could feel Rodney clamp down as he pushed his way inside, and he fucking loved it.

That was the best part, that Rodney really hadn't done much more probably in the last decade than fool around when he could, and John could imagine that the only other thing that had been in that ass had been the odd dildo. "Hnnnh, fuck."

"Yeah." Yeah, yes, and he pushed in until he was all the way, deep and perfect and... "Ungh, god fucking... Christ, you're tight. Feels..."

Fantastic, and he stayed pressed close against Rodney because he could feel Rodney's back muscles move, prelude to probably a hall of a backwards buck that would make John want to pull back and bruise Rodney's hips against the table.

And then the world went white. When it came back into focus, there were several pairs of eyes on them, all appalled, and his kitchen was nowhere to be seen.

"Well. This can't be good."

"Son of a bitch, what the -- I have a cell phone, how hard is it to call it?!" Rodney fell forwards, stumbled onto smooth metal or linoleum floor without the table, hands out to catch himself.

A bald guy in a flight suit put his hand over his eyes. "Well. That was something I never needed to see, Major."

No shit.

Rodney was up and standing, hands over his crotch faster than John had ever seen him get out of bed in the morning. The motion was very damned uncomfortable, because it jerked John's cock out of him. "You're going to have to forgive me for not saluting, Colonel. Last I knew, I was still on leave, unless you're planning on transporting me directly to Leavenworth..."

"No. Somehow, I don't think explaining the matter would really... and you're needed on P7X-943. As soon as possible. Lieutenant, would you...."

"What the hell is going on here?"

Rodney stood stock still while he looked for the poor young officer who was probably bringing them towels or robes or jumpsuits. Something, but John couldn't help but look around and try to fit the weirdness towards. One minute, he'd been in his kitchen, the next he felt like he was on the set of Star Trek.

"Hello? McKay, I know you're not speechless. You haven't been speechless since that episode with the peanut butter senior year. What the fuck?" What the fuck, because he was standing naked on what looked like the bridge of a fucking space ship because holy hell. There was a star field, and they were going somewhere and seriously. What the fuck?

"When I said I couldn't talk about my job, Sheppard, I really meant it," Rodney snapped, still staring at the guy with the eagle on his chest, hands still covering his dick. 

"Captain Henders, get this civilian off of my bridge and into a holding cell until a decision is made about him? Where's Lieutenant B-- Ah, thank you. I think everyone is grateful for you getting those. McKay, get the flight suit on so I never have to see your bare ass again."

"Holding cell!? What the fuck are you... Hey!" Hey, he wasn't even dressed and... "McKay!" If Rodney just let him be toted off....

"Hey, hey, be careful with him! Throw him a jumpsuit, the fact that some idiot couldn't calibrate the beam -- yes, I'm looking at you, Graydon -- isn't his fault." Rodney was already hopping, barefoot, into the jumpsuit, zipping it up commando style while some asshole eyed John like he didn't want to grab him by the arm to cart him away.

"Major, I don't care what you do in your spare time, but for now, this man is going into the holding cells. We can figure out what to do with him after you do the job I brought you up for."

This was the reason John had never seriously considered military service. Okay, he'd wanted to be a pilot when he was ten, but what ten year old didn't? The fact that he was bat-blind hadn't occurred to him as a problem at the time.

John took the second jumpsuit and started shimmying into it. "Look. You people are the ones who brought me up here, so stuffing me into a holding cell isn't exactly gonna work for me."

"You can't just make him go away. He's an award winning writer, and people are going to notice real fast if he's missing book signings." Rodney zipped the flight suit all the way up, staring at the man he'd called Colonel, while John just wanted to punch them all out.

"Captain." And then the guy had John by the arm, and he was pulling him off into who the fuck knew where in a space ship that was somewhere in space. Real space. Real fucking space, and suddenly it made sense why Rodney kept swearing that he loved his job. Real space. He could hear Rodney cussing in the background, fading off into the distance as he was frog marched by one person down a narrow hall.

So much for the start of what should have been a damn fine day.

"Look. Henders, right? Yeah? Just.... seriously. It's not like I'm going to be able to do any kind of damage here, okay? There’s no need to go tossing me in the brig or whatever."

"It's security, sir. And for your own safety." Yeah, he was going to the brig. The guy looked like he didn't have a free thought to spare between his ears.

"My own safety would be if you guys used the damn phone before, what? Beaming me and McKay up from my kitchen," John grumbled. "I'm not even sure I remembered to turn off the stove!"

"This is an emergency." And what kind of emergency, John wasn't going to get to find out, because he was being escorted towards what looked like a fancy little jail cell.

At least there was a cot in there. He'd take what he can get.

"Well, can I at least get some breakfast? Considering you people have pretty much fucked up my morning beyond recall. Oh, and a laptop, so I can start killing all of you with my mind." And his ability with a word processor.

The guy just looked at him and shook his head as he closed the door. "We'll see." We'll see. That sounded like they were planning on just leaving him in there to rot.

Great. Just great. And his house was probably going to burn down, too. "At least send somebody by my house to turn off the goddamn stove!"

"If we can, we will. It's not a local call, guy." Not a local call, yeah, because space, space, real space, and it hit John again like a sledgehammer when the door closed, locking him in.

"Oh my god." Jesus. He was in SPACE. Rodney worked for crazy military people with space-going vessels and they'd just been beamed up and he wasn't sure he'd turned off the oatmeal.

Maybe Amy would drop by and check on the disaster. She'd probably assume Rodney had kidnapped him or something, and then it would end up with calls to the police and international reports that he was missing. Great. Just fantastic.

He grumpily flounced down onto the cot, yelling in general, "At least you assholes could offer me something to read. And breakfast!"

It didn't seem like anyone had heard him. Whatever they'd hauled Rodney up for... had to be big, for them to take that kind of risk. Unless they did that shit all the time, but even Rodney had seemed surprised.

John kicked back, crossed his feet at the ankle, and began to plot the grim and evil literary death of everybody on the ship.

He might as well spend his time productively.

* * *

"So you're saying that they dialed in, and it's past the thirty-eight minutes and the gate is still open because -- because you don't know because," Rodney snapped, staring at the readouts. "What have you tried?"

"Dr. Lee's been working on it since SG-1 left Earth. That was two hours ago, and Colonel Carter was the only one who knew where you were staying. It was just luck that Dr. Frasier mentioned you still had that subcutaneous transmitter from your last off-world mission." Caldwell looked suitably grim, and no wonder. He'd just caught Rodney breaking UCMJ pretty blatantly, and the gate was fucked up.

"Fantastic." Rodney shook his head, trying to concentrate on the screen in front of him. "How long until we get there?"

"We're heading for the nearest planet with a Stargate. That's at least six hours at the full extent of the hyperdrive's ability." The Prometheus had taken a lot less time to build than originally planned thanks to having a ridiculous number of amazingly intelligent people thrown at the project.

And while Rodney liked ships a lot, he preferred Stargates, and it really had been ridiculous. "Do you want me down there trying to tweak the drive to move faster?"

"We need you to spend time working on what Dr. Lee's been doing, see if you can find some way to get the gate to disconnect. Unfortunately, we also need you and your team to try and find SG-1 when we get to a working gate. Your team's all in their quarters with the exception of Dr. Sharyfa, who is currently working on the hyperdrive problem. SG-13's going to be going with you. Colonel Dixon and Lieutenant Bosworth are in their quarters. Dr. Balinksy stayed behind, since he's a little less comfortable with getting shot at."

"Lucky for Doctor Balinksy," Rodney sighed, nodding. "I'll see what I can make of it. Once we reach the planet, I should be able to disconnect the gate."

Caldwell nodded at him, and turned as if to go, pausing as if some thought had occurred to him. "Considering the circumstances, Major, we will have to, ah. Discuss some things with General O'Neill when we return to Earth."

Son of a bitch. "Right. If you want me at my best right now, and you want this solved without anything else going wrong, I'd appreciate if it we could go the rest of this mission without mentioning it again."

"I have to admit it'd make my day if I never had to think about it again. I'll check in with you in an hour or so and see what kind of progress you've made." This time, when he turned, he actually left.

Thank God.

Left Rodney alone to wonder what the hell they were going to do with John and what the fuck Carter had done to the gate, because it wasn't supposed to dial and stick. Oh, they could redial, and there were times that extended energy bursts had overridden the failsafe, but Lee had nothing like that noted in the data.

He needed to eat and he needed to figure out how to get something to John before he did more than just plot Rodney's imminent death in his newest book. Not that that was bad. Rodney was actually sure that he'd died a few times over in those books, but he wasn't going to read through them wondering if that was him, dead in that scene, because he really came close enough in real life, and probably repairing the gate was another way that he'd get really close.

With a sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face and headed for the cafeteria. Even if Caldwell said Dixon was in his quarters, he was probably there bitching about his kids and eating breakfast. He'd at least have somebody to grab breakfast with while he looked over the paperwork and tried to work through the problem. It could just spin in his head for a while, and if he let it do that the solution would click.

Rodney didn't think about the possibility that the rumors of his appearance had spread that far already. He'd hate to hear what Dixon might have to say, and pretty much everybody on the ship probably felt the same way. The colonel didn't have much by way of an internal filter, and everybody pretty much knew exactly what he thought about everything.

All the time.

On one hand, it was good that the guy in charge was so... clear about what he meant. If he was for something, then he was for it, and if he was against it then he was... loud. Obnoxious, almost, and not a man to mince words. His career was pretty much over, Rodney decided grimly, and marched onward.

He made his way through the halls with little more than the occasional weird glance and the sound of murmurs once he'd passed by others in the hall. The cafeteria was open even if it wasn't quite full, and... yeah. There was Dixon all right.

"McKay! C'mere! I already heard you showed up naked on the bridge. May as well come on over."

Fantastic.

Rodney grimaced his way over towards the food line. "Hold on a minute -- I missed breakfast."

"Yeah, well, rumor has it you were gettin' ass-fucked instead. I can kinda see where that'd mean holdin' off on breakfast. It's never been exactly my cup o' tea, but you know how it is. One wife, four kids. She ain't got time for none of the kinky stuff."

The cafeteria was emptying so fast he could practically hear the air sucking out of the room with the force of the exodus. Even the mess cook was giving him a dirty look. Dixon was loud. It was what the man did, and it wasn't as if the whole of the ship didn't already know or wouldn't have known by the time it 'docked' back home. "Scrambled eggs and toast, please."

"Yeah, well, when you got that, come on over and join me. Dave Junior's got in a hell of a mess, I figure I better tell somebody since Balinsky's decided to stay home and check out some kinda weird rocks he's got a hard-on for."

"He's still jittery about getting shot." And one of his team members had died, so it had been a shitty mission, and it looked like they were in for a worse reunion mission. At least by Rodney's judgment. He gave the mess cook a hard stare, and then turned to sit with Dixon once he had his plate back. Rodney just hated that he was left sitting gingerly.

"Yeah, well. It's kind of a problem with Balinsky. He'll get over it." Wells had, in his way. He was still convalescing, new baby boy and all. "So. Who's the boyfriend, anyway?"

"Can we not talk about my impending trip to Leavenworth?" Rodney rubbed at his forehead as he sat down and scooped up his fork to start eating.

Dixon leaned back, coffee cup in hand. "Oh, hell, McKay. They can't afford to send your ass to prison, no matter who's bangin' it. You think any of 'em would be comfortable knowing they couldn't pull you outta the sheath on their hip when Carter's managed to get herself caught up off-world and the Earth's about to blow up again?"

No matter who was banging it. Yeah, that was exactly the mental image he wanted to have, to be flashed back to the bridge when he was teleported in with John in tow. "That reminds me that I should go down to the brig and try to calm him down."

Oh, that face. Rodney knew that face, and if Dave thought it was funny, his ass was in a sling with John. "Yeah, well. Henders came up about fifteen minutes ago and got breakfast for 'im. I heard your boyfriend was cussin' like a sailor."

"It's not like he's an auto mechanic or just some -- he's used to being treated better. Lives in a gated community, too smart for his own good, and Caldwell's going to be in as much trouble as I am," Rodney sighed around a forkful of eggs.

"Huh. That'd be pretty damn funny to watch in my opinion." Dixon kicked his feet up on the table. "So. You gonna be able to drag our asses out of this sling Carter and Felger seem to have made?"

"Yes. Not that I've completely grasped just how they made things go so badly in the first place, but once we get there, I can, I'll fix it." He waved a hand vaguely, focusing on the food.

"Figure it's just gonna take some pretty special finger-work to make it. You know. Rearrange itself. Viruses and worms and... you know. Intergalactic spam or whatever. Anyway." He smacked his cup down on the tray. "Gotta get goin'. Probably got somebody who needs shootin' when we get where we're headed."

"Right. Probably." Rodney closed his eyes, and stuck his fork into the food again. He needed to go see John. Miserably. Preferably before John decided to try and kill him with his mind.

"Hey, McKay." Dixon paused. "Don't let 'em rain on your parade, says I. I mean, I got a wife an' four kids, but I say every man's got a right to his... whatever."

"I'm sure the UCMJ appreciates your input," Rodney groaned. 

But. Input. They needed input, and if he could interface into the gate and just overload it, he could get a chance to get in and rework the code. That'd be a start, because seriously, what were they thinking, letting Felger do anything that might actually affect, oh, the entire gate system? He could barely be trusted to leave his office. Rodney would've preferred it if he didn't leave his office at all. In fact, if he could just jam a chair up against the doorknob from the outside, and hang a 'do not touch' sign on it, the SGC might be a better place.

Under the silence of the hard stares, of the people watching him, it was hard to eat. So Rodney gave up, and left the mess to see if he could find John.

It wasn't like it was going to be difficult. Rodney knew how to find the brig, and what questions to ask to get there. More importantly, he could hear John yelling through the door when he finally got down there, so it really wasn't much of a problem.

"I swear to GOD when I get out of here I'm going to sue you people! Your grandchildren will shudder in fear at the sound of my name!"

"It's all classified, John. You can't sue what doesn't officially exist." Rodney figured he might as well continue to be an asshole, since he was probably already in trouble with John. In trouble with John, in trouble with his work, and hysterically that was not how Rodney McKay operated. He'd gotten over that during field training, mostly because he eventually wanted to get back to the important stuff, like math and physics and the amazing theoretical world he had mostly lived in before he'd decided the military was a good idea.

There was silence through the door for a moment. "McKay. If I can't sue them, then I'm going to have to kill them. In their sleep. Like I'm going to kill you."

"In a book, this time, or real life?" Rodney leaned close to the door. "I'm sorry."

There was silence for what felt like a really long time. When John finally broke it, he sounded almost apologetic. "Yeah. Me, too."

"I'm hoping that they don't send me to Leavenworth. Not that a dishonorable discharge is going to do much for me, either..." It would do a whole lot of nothing at all, because that would show up in every file if anyone did any research on him, and that was just the kinds of jobs he'd be most qualified for on the outside.

He heard a faint bump against the door, probably John's head. "If they do that, are you sure I can't sue them? Because what the fuck. If they'd beamed you up having sex with a blonde with big boobs, everybody'd be slapping you on the back."

"Nature of the community," Rodney shrugged tightly. "Actually, they would've. I just... hey, tried it, never really got it to work, and uh, this is shitty."

"Yeah, well. It's not any better on this side. I haven't had breakfast, and I'm pretty sure I left the burner under the oatmeal on."

"You have house insurance, right?" He didn't expect that anyone had passed on any message or done anything about John's house, but for all Rodney knew they were there to clear out his shit and use it against him.

"Of course I have insurance! And I figure Amy'll come over around ten." She did most mornings, Rodney had figured out. Mostly because she still gave him a hard time. "I just, you know."

"Worry, yeah. We're in space, you know. A rift of, actually, it's hyperspace, traveling from Earth to another planet because our Stargates are all screwed up, and yes, by Stargates I mean big round doors that we use to step from one location in space time to another. Welcome to the job I got shot in the ass for." Rodney leaned in against the door.

John didn't say anything for a few moments. "You're shitting me, right? No. No, okay, maybe not, because seriously. I've been beamed up, so I guess I shouldn't be skeptical." He paused for a minute. "Big round doors just makes me think of Tolkien."

"I suppose if they ever let you out of there, you might get to see it." Which was an agonizing thought, because Rodney couldn't think of many times that the SGC did a catch and release.

"You know, that just sounds bad. The kind of bad where I'm going to be stuck in a cell on a ship in hyperspace for the rest of my very short life."

"No, no, hyperspace travel is... very well researched and very safe," Rodney tried to assure him through the door. "And they won't kill you. They just, I don't know what they're going to do to you."

"Yeah, thanks. That's reassuring." John's head bonked on the cell door again. "Fuck."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. And I have to go, because they're expecting to land soon, and I need to take time to get dirty looks from my teammates before we... go to get shot at." The words felt sour in his mouth, and John sounded miserable on the other side of the door.

"Just watch out for your ass. And try not to do any running. You're still bitching about early morning trips to pee."

Rodney pressed his forehead against the door. "Yeah. I have been. Just... bear this out and I'll try to get you out of here when we get back home. I promise. The General and the Colonel on deck aren't cut from the exact same cloth, so..."

"So maybe you won't get kicked out of the military and maybe I'll get to go back to writing books in my hopefully not burned down house." John sounded pretty miserable. "McKay. Rodney... be careful."

Be careful. "I will be. Routine crap that we deal with, that's all this is. When they kick me out, I don't know who's going to save Carter's ass." No one else, so Carter herself would have to do it. And she probably would, but Rodney could do it faster, with a lot less near death moments, and usually from the safer side of the equation. "Don't bite anyone if they open the door."

"You sure? If I tell 'em I'm rabid, maybe I'll at least get to go to the infirmary. You know, there's no air flow in here. Seriously."

"No, there is. It's just recycled so it's stagnant airflow. I know, I'm well familiar with the schematics of this ship. The life support system is about as comfortable as a submarine's. We're working on it."

"Yeah. Thanks." There was a moment's silence and then... "McKay. I... you know."

"Look, we can finish this discussion under saner circumstances later, John." And he could stand against the door, lingering longer than he needed to.

"Just don't come back shot someplace dangerous. Okay?"

"Okay." He lingered for another minute, and then moved away from the door. "I'll uh, see you as soon as I can."

That was painful enough, wasn't it? He'd never really thought about it, never had anybody to come home to regularly since John. Walking away, even when John only muttered things like 'you know', made his stomach hurt. And now John was caught up in his problems, and Rodney couldn't think of how they were going to get out of that bind. All he could do was move to the embarkation room, and put on his gear when he got there.

The weirdness that embodied Dixon aside, there was no way that it was going to be that easy for the rest of them. Hell, his own team was going to be a problem. Maybe not so much Castaneda, but Wilkes was a Marine, and Sharyfa had some weird Southern Baptist idea of the world as he knew it. Rodney had never understood how the guy had gotten a spot at the SGC with the way he pursed his lips any time somebody differed from him in their religious ideas.

Space aliens by themselves had to have put some huge leaking holes in his concepts of the world, but Rodney didn't understand how the man continued to do the job and still kept himself wrapped up and bigoted. But, he'd generally gotten along with them. And they'd just lost a team member. Wilkes was a pretty good replacement, and she'd served on other gate teams. She just wasn't Williams.

By the time he got to the embarkation area, there were others there. They were still hours out, but the rest of them had obviously had the same idea he had. There was nothing else to do, and there was always that restless hope that magically, or through a scientific fluke, they'd arrive there sooner. Castaneda caught his eyes first, and Rodney nodded to her. She gave him a quick one-sided smile, but her eyes flitted over to Sharyfa and Wilkes in the corner. That as much as anything was a sign of how things were probably going to go.

That was what he got for letting somebody put a botanist on his team.

The other two were, well. he had to address them. He had to deal with them, from a position of command, and that meant walking over there and blithely acting as if nothing at all was wrong.

"Well, are you ready?"

"Don't have to be for another three or four hours. Just checking over munitions." Wilkes shrugged, and Sharyfa didn't even look at him. It didn't matter. Not really.

Except that it did matter. Rodney looked hard at Sharyfa, and glanced at Wilkes. "Sergeant Sharyfa."

"Major." He could practically see the words clamped back behind Sharyfa's teeth, gleaming and sharp and remarkably stupid. Sharyfa managed to hold them back for the time being, though.

That was fine. Rodney knew he was going to have problems, and it wasn't going to get any better. "If you want to say something, Sergeant, I'd like to get this over with so I don't have to worry about whether or not you're going to watch my six when we're getting shot at."

The way Sharyfa smirked made Rodney want to slap the shit out of him. He refrained, teeth ground together. "So long as it's not you watching mine."

"You should, because I'm obviously sexually attracted to you. Just like Wilkes, because she's a woman and she wants -- oh, wait, she's repulsed by you in that context. Funny how people having discriminating tastes works," Rodney snapped. Castaneda was hiding a grin, just barely, and Wilkes looked like she might choke.

None of it made Sharyfa any happier. "I thought queers didn't believe in discriminating in what they fucked from one day to the next."

"If this conversation continues I'm going to make a derogatory remark about your mother clearly not discriminating, and neither of us wants it to reach that point, now do we?" Or the point where Rodney had his ass hauled down and locked up next door to John.

Watching Sharyfa turn bright red and start to open his mouth made Rodney step up again.

"I'm still your commander, and I've been your commander for two years now with no problems. We've been a good team, Sharyfa, so don't make me have my last act in the Air Force be filling out the paperwork to bust you down for insubordination." And with that, Rodney moved to get his own kit together.

"Sir?" Castaneda didn't seem shocked so much as she seemed resigned, seemed to want to hear him say it. "You're.... resigning?"

"What? No, but I was just caught red handed by the command staff of the ship and I think that puts me past worrying about DADT." He was probably going to be asked to resign his commission, at the best, and Rodney just, needed not to think about that and he knew he needed not to think about it.

Castaneda nodded, taking a deep breath. "The Air Force will be losing a fine officer, sir." She didn't flinch when Sharyfa snorted.

It was miserably tempting to take Sharyfa down with him, and if he mouthed off again, Rodney decided that he'd at least file the paperwork. Whatever happened after that, it was probably going to be out of his hands. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

And at least there was that.

* * *

John would kill for a rubber ball.

A rubber ball, a Sudoku book, a copy of Gone With the Wind. Anything, so long as he had something to keep his brains from exploding with boredom.

He wasn't a boredom kind of guy. He could kill hours and hours doing research and reading, but that wasn't boredom. That was his work, that was fantastic, a great way to spend his time. This was staring at a damn wall, trapped on a fucking spaceship with no idea what to do with his time.

There was no way in hell he was going to spend it singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Maybe Margaritaville was the way to go.

There was a knocking noise on the door, and it took John a minute to work out that it was actually the sound of the door being opened. "I'm going to need to know your name, sir."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna need something to do before my brain explodes from boredom. When I get that, then we can talk about my name." After all, it wasn't like they could just shoot him.

He hoped.

It was the man who'd been in the captain's chair kind of thing who stepped into the cell, gesturing to a guard to stand outside of the newly closed door. "I'm afraid you've stumbled onto a classified project much bigger than you are, and it's been a while since we've had this happen."

John would just bet it had. "It's been a while since I got beamed up during pre-breakfast sex, too. And you know, I keep asking for food, but nobody seems to hear. I'd actually prefer a book. How do you feel about The Brothers Karamazov?"

"I found it a little lengthy for my tastes," jumpsuit guy drawled, while he leaned back against the closed door. "You and McKay, you uh..."

"College roommates. For some reason, he thought the Air Force was cool enough to give up fantastic sex, an obsession with Russian novels and bad jokes. But enough about me. Why don't you tell me exactly what you're planning to do with me?"

"Not sure." That was in a particularly grim tone of voice, enough to make John's mind race while he strained to play it cool. "We have a few options. We can inculcate you, which some people prefer and I don't. We can do a security check and try to get you the clearance to be aware of this project and the checks and balances that require your silence, or I can find a pit and stick you in it."

"Yanno, that pit option? I'm thinking that's not gonna work for me so much. I've never been really susceptible to brainwashing, either, so I'm gonna say let's go with what's behind door number two." Smartass or no, John wasn't stupid.

"We're going to have to keep you under surveillance in the meanwhile. Heavy surveillance. And if you fail to pass the security clearance..." Well, it was option brainwashing or option pit, and John didn't want either of those to come about. "Well."

"Yeah, I get it. You'll send me to brainwashing boot camp or..." John drew a finger across his throat and made a cutting noise. "So can I get some breakfast or what?"

"I'm going to let you out of this cell, under escort. We're in orbit, and Major McKay's team has been deployed on their mission. I'm Colonel Caldwell, and you are...?"

He stood up and gave the guy a smile, just because he looked like the kind of man that might be broken if he smiled back. "John Sheppard."

"Mister Sheppard, I'm sorry about the circumstances." No recognition at all. It sort of figured that the people who lived the science fiction lifestyle didn't read his damn books with any reliability. Well, that Scottish doctor did, and that was an uncomfortable thought to have. He was never going to be able to eyeball the different loaves in the bread aisle without thinking that the guy who fixed the hole in Rodney's ass might walk up behind him and do the squealing fan thing any second.

"Me, too." Seriously. He'd spent six hours in a holding cell of some kind, he was starving, and he was worried as hell, not that he was about to tell this guy about it. "So, I take it this is the guy that's gonna follow me around?"

"Yes. And I think McKay mentioned something about you being an author...? The Lieutenant here is pursuing a second bachelors in creative writing in his free time." Caldwell smiled sharply at him, and John's only thought was 'son of a bitch'.

He was in hell. "Thanks, Colonel. I appreciate your assistance." Like he appreciated some creepy creative writing person haunting him for the next few hours with the inevitable questions about his Art. And it wouldn't just be art, but it'd be ahhhhrt.

"You're welcome, Mr. Sheppard. Please let Lieutenant Edwards know if there's anything you might need. He'll keep you from wandering off on your own."

Great. Fantastic. The man smiled wildly, eyes bright and wide like he was giddy as he grinned at John. "So, mess hall, sir?"

"Mess hall it is."

God, he hoped Rodney came back soon.

* * *

The DHD was pretty damn hard to work on when he was crouched down, trying to stay behind the cover of its body. It didn't provide much by way of cover, and he kept having to put his elbows out to maneuver within the space he was in and there was a horrifying mental image of one of those shots shattering his elbow. Why was it always his team that got shot at? Why did SG-1 have all the luck?

"Sir, I got incoming!" Castaneda was moving, flinging herself back to look for some kind of cover. Rodney could hear the death gliders coming, so he didn't bother yelling back. "We're in trouble!"

"No shit!" Wilkes was a damn good shot, but it wasn't going to help them any.

"Go for cover! Go, go for cover!" If he could fix the damn gate they'd be fine, just fine, but they couldn't fix the fucking gate, because Felger had borked it, and he couldn't return fire as well as try to upload the fix to the DHD.

"Jaffa incoming!" At least being under fire seemed to get Sharyfa out of his pissy-assed sulk, because they were covering him while he worked. They were probably going to die here, knowing Rodney's luck, and John would end up scribbling his stupid books with a soft crayon underneath Cheyenne Mountain for the rest of his life.

They'd probably still let him publish, but hell. Hell, and Rodney leaned in, pressed his forehead against cold metal before he reached for his P-90. His fingers curled around it, and then the world lit up in bright, gleaming shards of Asgard transporter beam.

At least Caldwell wasn't going to leave them down there.

"What the hell was the point of that?!" Rodney was barely starting to crouch up, fingers shaking against the trigger while he turned his head to do a quick headcount.

"You're not doing anybody any good if you're dead, Major. We're about to make a run for it before..." The entire ship jarred. "Before another Hatac comes to make us more uncomfortable."

Son of a bitch. Rodney stood up, lowering the gun. "I was almost into the system! Five more minutes and we'd have all of the gates back online again!"

"Five more minutes and you would've been dead, Major. If it's all the same, get off my bridge. Lieutenant, take us out."

Fucking waste of god-damned time. Rodney moved, escorting himself out. It was a damn waste, and he couldn't shake that thought because it was a damn waste, and his life was going to be ruined because they'd decided they needed him for that damn waste of time, and he hadn't had a chance to accomplish the mission.

Instead of heading straight down to John's cell, he stomped off to his own 'quarters', not even bothering to stop by the embarkation area to strip off his tac vest and drop off his P-90. Frankly, they were all damn lucky he didn't just shoot them then and there. God dammit.

He'd never been good with anger. Before, before he'd had it knocked down, he would have ranted and raved and frothed at the mouth and they would have had to drag him bodily off of the bridge, and now he had the sense to drag himself out, kicking an interior bulkhead door hard once he was out of the way enough. It made his ass twinge and his foot hurt, and it wasn't satisfying enough.

"Huh. Last time I saw you that pissed, your lab partner had just fucked a six week long experiment."

"They pulled me before I had half a chance to get anything done. They beamed me up, ruined my career, and all for not a damn thing, and you know what really pisses me off? I've been left out to dry by those bastards in worse situations, and now they decide to be proactive, and when did you get out of the cell?"

John had a lieutenant attached to his hip and the guy looked pretty ecstatic. "Yeah, well. The asshole from the bridge decided to let me out, after he offered me death and brainwashing as fantastic options."

"Huh, that sounds about right," Rodney sighed, twisting to glance at John tiredly. "Want to hide in my quarters until they kill us?"

"Eh, sure." John shrugged and let his mouth curl upwards. "I always wanted to die happy, and Lieutenant Edwards here can guard me just as well standing out in the hall."

Edwards bounced on the balls of his feet. "Mr. Sheppard was giving me some pointers, sir."

"Pointers, huh? I'm sure you made the kid's day." Rodney threw Edwards a sharp smile, and turned towards his quarters. Son of a bitch, he was all wound up with nowhere to go but a court martial. "The gates are still all fucked up and I'm going to snap Felger's neck if I get word I'm spending time in jail, because if I'm going to jail, I'm going to go for a reason."

At least John seemed to get it. "C'mon. You can yell better in your quarters. Throw punches if you want. I'll give you at least a fair fight back."

Rodney opened the door to the small temporary space, and let John go in before he followed. "Edwards, I hope you brought a deck of cards. If you hear yelling, well. Be glad it's not you."

"Uh...."

John grinned at him through the door. "I can hold my own. No problems."

And Rodney shut the door on the poor kid's face, which was possibly, no, it was uncalled for, but he was past caring. "Some days I hate my life."

John dropped down on the bunk and leaned back. "Yeah, so. Maybe I shouldn't have talked you into sex this morning."

"Well, we were at your house. And I was still on leave. As strange as my life is, I haven't yet reached that level of paranoia."

"You know, if I had known about the beaming thing? I might have."

"No, I can't live like that. Well, I can." Rodney shifted, started to unfasten his vest. "I have. But everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Always, and this damn mission is one more example of it."

He could feel John's eyes on him, heavy and thoughtful. "Well, you can always tell me about it now. In for a dime.... might as well toss in the whole dollar."

Which was true. His lack of or applicability to a security clearance wasn't going to make the basic knowledge he had already picked up from the mishap any more or less weighty if Rodney kept talking. He set the vest carefully on the floor, and paused to unload his p-90. "What, the mission or?"

"Or whatever you wanna talk about. You know, that gun? You look kinda hot. Like Action Figure McKay." John stretched, and Rodney heard several things pop. Hard. "Ungh."

"I can fire it and everything." He threw John a smile that felt three steps to the left of normal, and sat down heavily beside John on the narrow bed. "Back hurts?"

"I've just spent hours in the brig, and an even worse time trying to explain inspiration to Lieutenant Edwards. Everything hurts."

"You should have told him that it comes from your psychic connection with more intelligent beings in other galaxies. Or ghosts." Rodney tilted his head, and then leaned back, slouching against the thin mattress. "Actually, he might've believed you, too."

"I think he'd have believed it if I told him that homicidal clowns phoned the ideas in on my cell." John moved, pressing against Rodney's side. "You really think they're gonna bring charges or....?"

"I have no idea. The command structure is prone to whims. I've seen people put out to dry for tripping into the wrong meeting, and I've seen people given medals for acts of major insubordination." It was maddening and he was never really beloved of the leadership. He wasn't SG-1. Carter probably wouldn't go to bat for him. He just wasn't worth the effort.

"They'd be stupid to do anything." A hand cupped his jaw, and Rodney couldn't help letting his eyes close. "You're the most brilliant man in the galaxy, or you used to be. I can't imagine that changing any whole lot over the years."

"Galaxy." Rodney scoffed, leaning into John, reaching for the kiss that he knew was coming. "There've been a lot of brilliant madmen before me, and a lot more we'll still meet, and the Asgard, well, Roswell Greys are really fascinating to meet in--"

"Roswell greys? You mean like... funny triangle headed big bug-eyed... like alien autopsy kind of guys?" John looked a little twitchy about that.

"Yes. They're a peaceful race, and one of our greatest allies. They were also the Norse Gods at one point. Actually, you stick this place out for very long and you lose all faith in religion at all because we've stumbled across most human gods out there. I'm waiting to find out that Jesus was actually a Furling." He just sat there, leaned in close to John and enjoyed the fact that okay, they were both still alive. The anger had to be receding.

"Furling." John sounded long-suffering, and really? Rodney remembered that. He remembered that it usually meant John was tired and amused, and it usually only came on after a hell of a bad day. "Okay. Don't tell me they're Ewoks. I don't think I can take any more today."

"We've never met them. We just... know they're out there. With the universe being a big place and all." Rodney's face was close to John's and his ass was aching and what a fucking miserable day. "You thought I was having a joke at you when I went on about this shit."

"Yeah, well, yanno. You're talking about aliens, McKay. Big-eyed naked aliens. They are naked, right?" The fact that he seemed vaguely appalled was almost funny. Almost. "Oh, God. You work with naked aliens."

"They're genderless. They clone, actually. A little awe inspiring, too, and yes, naked. The beaming technology? Theirs." Rodney shifted, awkward put a arm around John's shoulders, another around his waist. "And I'm chafing. I hate going commando in these things."

It wasn't much of a surprise when John shifted, moved, brushed his lips across Rodney's soft and easy. "You're fucking crazy. We're busy talking about bug-eyed aliens, and then you tell me you've dragged your ass down into, what? A firefight? Without underwear."

"Yes." It was hard not to smirk hard when John said that, because yes, it was a little weird. "The aliens have stopped bothering me. Dying bothers me. The idea of being made into a Goa'uld host really fucking kills me. There're amazing things out there, but it doesn't make the chafing go away."

"I'm not even asking about this gold thing. You can explain it sometime later." The way he nudged into Rodney, pushed his knee in close, settled, made Rodney feel... okay. Not a hundred percent better, but some. Enough, maybe.

Enough to exhale and feel his chest unknot by small tight measures, the tension easing out of his shoulders. "We were being fired at, by a Jaffa ship. I would have, I could have tried to get the DHD working..."

"You know none of this makes any sense to me and you're gonna have to start at the beginning, right?" John nudged him, and Rodney settled in, getting comfortable. Either he'd get court-martialed or he wouldn't. One way or another, napping with John wouldn't make any difference.

"Once upon a time, there was a parasitic species that modeled themselves after Egyptian gods..." He shifted, relaxed into it, into John, let his eyes stay closed. "I'm not sure if the gods came first or second, but I think it was second, and the Goa'uld came first. And there were other species, the Ancients, the Asgard, the Nox, the Furlings. We're... the Ancients, Mark II."

"Cool. Bedtime stories." He felt John's mouth brush gently against his temple. "It's gonna be okay, you know."

"No, I don't know that it's going to be okay, and I knew there was a risk and I..." Rodney knew it was worth it, but he didn't want to lose the wonders of space. Did it have to be space or a life, someone to pet at his back and tell him it was going to be all right? Because if it did, then life went way beyond unfair and into out to get him.

He heard John draw in a breath, let it loose slowly. "I wasn't worth it before. In the long run, I mean. I figured that's why you stopped coming home. Because I wasn't worth it."

"You're worth it. And I was an ass, and I'm sorry." He couldn't just stumble through life, couldn't just push John away, not after he'd run into him again, found him again. It was stupid, but maybe it was a sign.

"Me, too." And then John kissed him again, the way John always had, and it was good. It was worth it. John was worth it, and he'd figure something out. They'd figure something out, because he might not be Carter, but he damn sure wasn't worth losing over who he loved. It was their own damn fault, anyway, and it wasn't like they'd ever manage to present it in any kind of court. They'd beamed him up, and that was a bitch of coitus interruptus.

For the moment, he could relax and pretend he was anywhere but where he was.

* * *

At least they hadn't put them in chains and marched them straight down to holding cells.

John figured he had to be grateful for small favors, even if they included being herded into Rodney's lab, which was a pretty damn bizarre place. There was a guy there with fly away hair babbling at Rodney in some kind of eastern European language that was running by so fast John couldn't even place it.

If he had time enough, he knew he could nail down what it was, but as it stood, he was tired and his head hurt and it was a lot like being hung over. Without the booze part.

"Yes, look, can you, he can sit here, we're both here until everyone else has talked and come to a decision, but this doesn't mean that I'm going to argue with you about, I don't even know what you're arguing."

"Rodney!" And then he was off again, maybe speaking English, but John had pretty much decided not to pay any attention to it. Instead, he sat on a nearby lab stool and started randomly sorting through the stuff littering it. If it was dangerous, it wouldn't be strung across the table, he figured.

He hoped. A lot of it looked like things somebody would find at a weird old yardsale -- a lot of metal paperweights in a tacky deco fashion. Some of them seemed to be battery operated, or they'd been upgraded in some way, because they lit up when he touched them.

"Oh my God."

Rodney was white as a sheet and looking at him, his expression almost sick, and that worried John a hell of a lot more than random stuff that lit up when he touched it. The other guy was rattling on, calling somebody, and yeah. That worried John even more.

"Rodney? What...?"

"You, I am in hell. You have the gene. Stop touching that, right now, don't touch anything, just sit there on your hands, and oh, god, they're never letting you out of here now."

That wasn't exactly what John would call reassuring. "McKay! What the hell do you mean I've got 'the gene'?" He tried to put the glowing green thing down, but it seemed to have attached himself to him. Great. Just great. Now all he could think of was bad King horror novels. With aliens.

"There was a species that coded it’s -- you remember how I said we were version two of the Ancients, one of those big races?" Yes, but John had sort to tuned out Rodney's babble because it had been nothing short of downright hysterical and tired and strung out. "They keyed their technology to their DNA. A specific, artificial sequence, actually, which means that someone in your family tree knocked boots with an Ancient."

"Great. Just great. I'm never getting out of this underground hellhole, am I?"

"Well, you're useful to them now, but that's not always a bad thing." Rodney stood over by his chair, and seemed to be studying the object that was stuck to his hand. "Huh."

"Huh? What does huh mean, exactly? Because this thing is apparently made out of superglue of some kind." John shook his hand and then shook it again, and it just wouldn't come off of his fingers.

"It's a personal shield. Just think off at it really hard." Rodney held his hand out, ready to catch it when it fell off of John's hand, in anticipation of it.

"Think off." It sounded pretty damn stupid, but what the hell. Rodney was probably right about it, so John closed his eyes and thought, Off, off, off.

John felt the thing slide off of his hand, and Rodney apparently caught it because he heard the device behind placed on the table. "There we go. Please don't touch anything else. I don't want you growing tits or a third eye."

"...that could happen?" Holy hell. That was just disturbing in so many ways. Three eyes? Or, worse, three tits? Because how would he ever explain that one?

"Which is why we don't let the gene holders just randomly touch things. O’Neill’s accidentally activated grenades before. And once nearly completely overloaded his brain when he looked into what he thought was a door's security peephole." Rodney even pulled John's chair back from the desk for emphasis.

"Well hopefully I'm smarter than O'Neill." Whoever that was. "Because it's not like I planned to activate whatever that was! You're going to have to sit down and explain this." 

"Where do you want me to start?" Rodney leaned up, glanced over at the European guy. "I bet this will make your clearance go smoother. You haven't slept with any spies, have you?"

"No!" Except how the hell would he know, anyway? There had been Rodney, and then there had been nobody for a while, and for about seven weeks when he was twenty-six, there had been Patrick. Patrick had fucked like a champion, and he'd been very good-looking, but his brains had been made out of chocolate pudding. Seven weeks of stupid had been all John could take.

Looking back, John was pretty proud that he'd lasted for seven weeks with the guy, when the only thing going for him was his dick. There was a smattering of quickies, but. Hell. "Right, that should make it move more quickly." Rodney shifted, leaned his elbows on his knees. "O'Neill is my only real chance of not getting fired."

"Then I guess I'd better be nice to him, huh?" Whoever he was, and whatever he did. "I still don't see how anybody could hold you responsible for breaking their stupid rules, considering."

"The fact that those stupid rules are part of our, well, rules... They're pretty strict on rules. The best I can really hope for is a quiet honorable discharge." Rodney closed his eyes, and then looked up at John. "And hopefully they can clear you."

"If they do anything to you, they'd damn sure better not expect me to just do whatever the hell it is they want!" John snapped. "Because I'm not willing to just pretend about any of this."

"Yeah, well. Either they're going to bat for me in a meeting right now and flailing over you, or they're just leaving us here to sweat for a while, and either one is equally likely."

Great. All of this sounded like a fantastic place to work. John had always known that Rodney secretly harbored some kind of masochism gene. He just hadn't known it was all that strong. "I'm so glad I can't see worth a damn."

"Why are you glad you can't see worth a damn?" Rodney sat up a little, looking behind himself, which was weird.

"Because I wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid. You know. Jet fighters." John frowned. "I'm really glad I couldn't see well enough for that. At least as a writer, I can tell anybody dicking me around to go fuck themselves. I never realized that streak of masochism you have ran so deep."

"Yes, desperation to hold onto my then visa status or better drove me to it," Rodney declared. "And then, then I swore an oath to uphold the constitution and a ton of other stupid things that Americans love, and look where I am. About to be put out on my ass because I was in the wrong position when the intergalactic doorbell rang."

The other guy was still on the phone, and John figured that was the only reason Rodney didn't notice the guy who came in the lab and headed towards them in the middle of that speech. "It's pretty obvious you love what you do here," John said quietly. "And you must be damn good at it for them to pull a stupid stunt like that. So as far as I'm concerned, they'd be a bunch of morons to even think about using that against you, whether it's to discharge you or... or some other stupid military thing."

"I just don't know." Rodney looked miserable, and if he'd taken those kinds of risks, shot in the ass risks for the job, there was no way that he couldn't have job security, not in a normal job.

"Yeah, sure, well." The guy spoke up and Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin. "I kinda figured you were on your own time. The... your... whatever. Kind of has a point about that."

Of course he did. "No kidding."

Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin, and saluted at the same time. "General O'Neill, sir!"

Wow. John was pretty sure the last time he'd seen Rodney move that fast, there had been chocolate involved. Naked chocolate.

"At ease, Major." As if Rodney was magically going to relax somehow. He looked right next door to stroking out. "You've given me on helluva morning, you know that? You and this.. guy."

"John Sheppard."

Two grey eyebrows perked up. "Oh, yeah? The guy with the..." That hand motion obviously meant something. "Mystery novels. All the lawyers. Or. Whatever."

Well, there were worse things than being confused with Grisham. "Something like that."

"Dinosaurs, actually," Rodney relaxed in posture, but he still looked about three steps from stroking out. "Did you get Doctor Zelenka's call, sir? John just had uh, he activated the Ancient personal shield."

O'Neill shrugged. "Wasn't calling me. So. Your..." Obviously he was going to be your blank for eternity. "Has the gene, huh? That might help keep him out of the nearest black hole. There are some guys who're still kinda... you know. Duking it out, I guess you could say. About him, and." He waved a hand. "Yeah. You're not gonna be anybody's favorite any time soon, either."

"Haven't been one for a long time." Rodney looked like he was struggling for a smile while he stood there, watching O'Neill. "John, why don't you pick up that blue one there."

"You promise it's not gonna blow up?" John didn't pause, though; he just reached out and picked up the blue bauble, and felt a rush tingle through his entire body as it lit up, and with it, the entire room. "Wow. Did I do that?"

"See?" Rodney said with a vague gesture towards John, and then a wave at the Z guy to get his attention. Not that he needed to, because the light had him looking that way again.

O'Neill rocked back on his heels. "Yep. Hard to miss it. So." He looked directly at Rodney. "I'm doing what I can. There are problems." Of course there were. "The entire bridge saw it, and even considering the regs, there'll be rumors."

"Is this your way of saying I might have just a few months before this situation implodes on me?" Yeah, probably. It probably was, but Rodney had a look in his eyes that declared that he'd take it.

"Eh, pretty much." The guy looked at Rodney for a minute, and finally said, "Either way, McKay. You've got the security clearance, and you've got enough credentials to keep your place as a civilian. It's not like anybody can court martial Dr. McKay."

Rodney snorted a little, smiling as he seemed to be pointedly not looking at John. It was too obvious. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind, sir. Some of us just aren't made to be generals."

"Yeah. You know, you're kind of a smartass. They frown on that, or so I'm told."

Obviously he didn't, since John figured that guy ranked pretty high on the smartass list. "Okay, so....?" He had no idea. "Can I go home now? Or at least call my PA and make sure my house didn't burn down?"

"Yeah. You look like you're not likely to flee the country. Plus, we know where you live and you're apparently a big name writer, so... Of course, there are the obvious things. You can't tell your PA where you are or what's going on. I can't let you go yet because the details are still being ironed out, but... You'll be home in a few hours."

Thank God. John had really been thinking he was going to be dropped into some kind of bottomless pit shortly, mostly because Rodney kept kind of twitching. "Uh. Thanks."

"No problem. We keep helpless civilians locked up, well, we get in trouble eventually, and it's a lot of extra paperwork that I don't want to file," the general declared, and John could believe that he meant it.

Just to be sure he wasn't actually going to end up locked up, he glanced over at Rodney for reassurance. "Yeah. That makes me feel a little better."

"Never underestimate the power of procrastination." The general threw another loose, wild smile, and Rodney looked vaguely relieved as he nodded to himself. John kept expecting Rodney to start petting his own arm, openly reassuring himself. Or kicking himself. "I'll leave you all to your wall staring."

John was pretty damn grateful for that, and he figured Rodney was, too, especially when he managed a sketchy salute before the guy left. The babbling phone guy seemed to have calmed down and wandered off while John wasn't paying attention, so he gently nudged Rodney and asked.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Three more years of funny looks, I can... I can face that, I think." He exhaled. "Failing to re-up is less of a big deal than resigning a commission. I..." Rodney rubbed at his face. "It's not the end of the world. I'll play it by ear a little, and resign my commission if I think I'm going to get shot. I'll take a week and think about it before I... make any decisions."

Jesus. It wasn't like John had wanted that. Sure, he'd been bitchy about Rodney's job, but it had been mostly because it had taken Rodney away from him. He hadn't wanted anything like this. "I'm..." He could say it. He wasn't twelve. "I'm sorry, Rodney. I never meant..."

Rodney leaned in a little, not touching-close, but close enough to pitch his voice low. "It was bound to happen. Maybe not so spectacularly, but sometime. And the General is right. I can probably just sidestep civilian."

"Will that be enough?" Enough to make him happy. Enough to mean he wouldn't regret this royal fuckup. Just.... enough, because John remembered not being that.

Again might kill him.

He couldn't get Rodney back and then have it fall apart, but who knew? It hadn't been long enough to know for sure if Rodney was really back or if he just thought that he was back, or hell. He was making it more complicated than it was already inclined to be. "Yeah."

Yeah, and maybe that was enough. Maybe that would be true, and it would all work out in the end, be all right. John felt stupidly hopeful, but it was the only option he really had. "Okay."

"I'd suggest killing time in the mess hall, but I'm going to stay as far away from people for the rest of the day as I can. Just you and Radek, whenever he gets back here."

"What language was that, anyway?" He resisted reaching out, grabbing Rodney's shoulders and kissing the hell out of him. Not by much, but he resisted it. "I still wonder what he's up to. I mean, the guy had a serious hardon going when I lit up that stuff."

"Czech. He's probably gone to the storage rooms to see if there's anything else that we've been meaning to activate but haven't had a strong enough gene sequence to. It's a pretty long list, actually. The general also has the ancient gene, but he's reluctant to sit in a lab and be a guinea pig." There was a curl of Rodney's mouth that hinted towards a smile and being okay with things, at least for the moment.

In that moment, John really couldn't help himself. He stepped closer, even in the face of wide blue eyes, and leaned down the scant inch or two required, and kissed the hell out of Rodney McKay. There was no one there to see it, and if Rodney was going to have to resign his commission, a comforting gestures could go a long way to soothing Rodney's nerves. Kissing him like he was the best thing ever to happen to John, much less this damned hole in the ground, was a start.

"Do prdele! Ty ses takovej vul, Rodney!"

Oh. The Czech guy was back, then. Rodney startled, pull back, a hand on John's back. "What? Did you discover something, or?"

"Kissing your boyfriend here, while it is very exciting, his..." Hands flew all over the place, as if they could make the expression pop out on its own. "His gene, is very bad idea."

"His gene is a bad idea? Radek, he's smart and he has the gene, I don't see how that's any genetic bad idea." Rodney pulled back, still eyeing John as if he was likely to tackle him at any moment. And maybe he was.

The guy just kind of hissed in irritation and threw his arms up, spitting out something that Rodney obviously got because he said something back and then John decided to just take a step away from them. It looked like pretty standard fare, because some guy in the hall just wandered past without even looking in.

Well. At least this was going to be entertaining until he could get free and give Amy a call. She was probably frantic, but he'd get a word in edgewise eventually.

Maybe. Probably.

Oh, hell.

* * *

He was half-ashamed of his place.

Rodney wasn't sure whether it was the house itself or the clutter, but he wasn't exactly living in a class A neighborhood in the Springs, and it had been a couple of weeks now since he'd been there. He was halfway inclined to make apologies for it, but John didn't seem to care. He was too busy plundering around in Rodney's kitchen, being nosy.

"Seriously. Have you ever cooked in here, or do you just live on takeout when you're not on base?"

"Yes?" It seemed to be a viable answer for both questions. Rodney stashed a couple of magazines into a trash bag. "Does parmesan on Triscuits count as cooking?"

"No." That didn't stop John from plundering, though. Jeannie had that bug, too. He'd never yet had a bag she didn't want to go through. She'd told him once it was part of the trials and tribulations of having a baby sister. He was pretty sure it was one of the trials and tribulations of falling in love with John again. It wasn't bothering him much.

"It should. Popcorn should also count as cooking, right? I do pasta sometimes." He followed after John into his kitchen. "Seriously, why do you and my sister have the same reaction and go immediately for my kitchen?"

"Because we both wanna see how you've managed to try and kill yourself lately. Jesus, Rodney. Do you ever eat anything resembling a vegetable?" John was still ferreting, but at least he hadn't turned his attention to Rodney's bedside drawers yet.

Jeannie still wasn't over that one.

"Cauliflower, actually. It's cheaper than chips and just as crunchy." He'd figured that one out by accident when he was in training, and the nice taste of it.

"Yeah, that explains the moldy stuff in the bottom of this drawer." Yeah. He'd kind of forgotten about that. It hadn't exactly been on his mind so much, clearing out his fridge.

"Well, I've been living at your house." He decided to edge up closer to John, peering over his shoulder. "We're lucky it hasn't started arming itself."

"No kidding." John turned his head a little and grinned. "I'm pretty sure it's growing legs, though."

"Really?" Probably not really, but Rodney still leaned up to try and peek despite that, just so he could lean against John's back.

"Not so much." John grinned and pushed back comfortably against him. "Hey. You don't think they're gonna beam us up any time soon, do you?"

"I think they might've learned that lesson." The official word was still that he was 'all right', but Rodney knew he wasn't. His career was dead-ended, and his soldiers were giving him funny looks. But John was still there. Kind of funny, really. That he was there when things started, and there when things ended.

"Good." John shifted, turned around a little, and slid his hands up into Rodney's hair. "Then we could fuck in your kitchen instead of mine."

Rodney wished he had more hair for John to run his hands through. "My kitchen is smaller, and can we check it for lost steak knives first?" His hands still ended up at John's sides, high against his rib cage.

"So you're suggesting one of us might get ass-stabbed if we don't."

"I'm pretty sure the one I'm thinking of is wedged between the cabinet and the stove." He let his hands wander a little, slowly traveling over John's back.

"Oh. Well. So long as you're pretty sure, I'd say it's worth the risk." John was propped up against the open door of the refrigerator, shoulder blades pressed against the freezer keeping him from falling into it. His fingers hooked into Rodney's waistband, thumb rubbing just above the material.

Not that he thought John would *actually* fall into the fridge, because John was more graceful than Rodney. "Table, I swear it's not from Target or Ikea, it should be half as sturdy as yours..."

"You bought it at a yard sale, didn't you." Like he had to ask. It would still hold him, and it wasn't like John's skinny ass was going to put an unexpected amount of stress on anything.

Rodney leaned back against the pressure of John's fingers against his back, slight as it was. "Why, what tipped you off?"

John grinned at him, starting to push him out of the refrigerator door and towards the table. "The chairs don't match the pedestal. Also, I can't see you carving i love boys into the top. I noticed that when I laid down the mail."

"It, it has that carved into the top? I never saw that before." Rodney twisted, peering at the tabletop, as he let John push him. "Maybe I should get better lights in here."

"Rodney, if I could see it in this light, anybody can see it in any light." John guided him, pushing him until he was up against the table. Then he fitted himself up against Rodney, pushing a leg between his. "Besides. 's not exactly a lie."

"Then I bought a convenient table?" Jesus that felt good, the pressure of John's thigh up against his, and god, yeah. Sex, the sex they'd been in the process of having when everything had gone to hell. "Lube, we're going to need..."

"Got it covered." He sounded smug, so pleased with himself. He was still rubbing against Rodney, and his dick was hard against Rodney's hip. "And I'm gonna get you uncovered."

He was going to have a table-edge shaped bruise against his ass, but Rodney didn't care. Well, he cared, and he'd care later, but just then he leaned back on one hand and tried to press back up against John. "Are you going to start working on that, or will you need help?"

"I've never said no to watching you get naked, McKay. What say I step back and let you show off for me? Hm?"

"If I attempt some kind of tabletop strip-show, you're going to start laughing hysterically," Rodney warned as he planted both feet on the floor, and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Well, yeah. That kind of goes without saying." John was working at the button and zipper of his pants, and wow. He was pretty intent on getting back to the naked state in which they'd been beamed up to the Prometheus.

It was hard not to think about that, about how horrifying a situation it had been to be beamed up to the Prometheus, and then to feel John's dick pulling out in front of a commanding officer, and that was a horrifying thing to remember, but it didn't hinder Rodney from shrugging out of his shirt. "Good. As long as we're on the same page."

"Oh, yeah." John was careful as he pushed Rodney's pants off of his hips, avoiding the sore spot remaining from being shot. "I'd say we're on the same page. Lots of lube, lots of naked...."

"Lots of no one interrupting us." Lots of Rodney not thinking about his resignation of his commission. He wanted to focus on the moment then, of stepping out of his pants once he'd toed off his shoes. "Does this mean you're staying here tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. It means I'm staying where you are," John told him, getting back in his space. He was still mostly clothed, but they could do something about that before too much longer. "If it's okay with you, I mean."

"Please, when I've been living at your apartment for weeks?" Rodney slouched down, legs spread wider than they needed to be, but since he was naked there was no reason not to relish it a little, put on a little show for John.

It worked out pretty well, because John took in a shaky breath and stepped back again just to watch. "Christ."

It was hard not to laugh just a little, but Rodney tried to keep it in check when he reached down and started to slowly stroke the length of his dick. "You could have anyone. Hands down, John. You had a fan club on the Prometheus that you didn't even know about, but most of them would at least move from bi curious to vaguely gay for a guy like you."

"Not much point in it." That hungry look was one Rodney didn't want to forget anytime soon. "I'm pretty sure I'm a one man kind of guy. You know. If, uh..." That was one of the things Rodney had always loved to watch happen, the way that John ducked his head and then flushed, the color chasing from his ears and all the way across his face.

"Get your pants off and get over here," Rodney demanded. "If I'm quitting my job, well, I'd have to resign it no matter what, but I'm going to try as hard as I can to make this work, you and me, so uh, I. You know."

"Yeah." Yeah, and John's mouth was curling, his clothes were coming off, and he was, he was there. Right there, and kissing Rodney in a way that made him go a little crazy. "Yeah."

Not crazy-crazy, but his heart sped up and the fact that things could go to hell again between them was possible, but not something he was going to dwell on. He and John were a good fit, and they were older and maybe less likely to slam doors this time around. John just maliciously made coffee now a days. "Mhhm, it's about time this house got to see some action."

"I can't imagine how, with an ass like yours." John's hands stroked down his back and cupped, fingers curling into Rodney's crack, teasing. "I've missed your ass, Rodney."

"And my stunning personality," Rodney encouraged. "You can't forget my stunning personality." And his ass, because there was a way that John *moved* his hands that just seemed worshipful, spoke of how much he *had* missed Rodney's ass, though not for lack of outside intervention stopping them.

"Your stunning personality usually lambasts everybody else over the head." Oh. Yeah. There. There was a thumb, and it was pressing, teasing, pushing just a little, and Rodney squirmed because it was fucking hot. The other hand moved away from his hip and in a minute, there was a line of slick, easy wetness sliding down his crack.

Probably forming a little river to either side of John's thumb, and Rodney just wanted to push back and push back, even bent weirdly over the kitchen table like he was. It made getting the right traction sort of hard, but he hoped that it was going to put him at the perfect angle for John's dick. "It's trying to compete with my ass for un-forgettableness."

There was a push, slick and hard and in, and Rodney shivered in response. "I don't think anybody who's ever had exposure to either one would be able to forget it, Rodney."

"Mostly I'm focusing on you..." He tilted his head back, going with that shivery feeling, the urge to move closer to John, to feel more of him. If they were kidnapped by the SGC again, he was going to flip out in ways that they'd never seen, because he could feel tension unknotting in bad places and moving to better ones.

"That's good." John leaned over, kissed the back of his neck. He was nearly blanketed, and the sharp nip of teeth made him even harder. "That's really good. Because what I want is all of your focus. Everything, Rodney." John's thumb slid out, but it didn't take long for two fingers to push back inside.

Focused, oh, he was focused, because John was working his ass over nice and slow, steady. In and out, in and out, and Rodney had the strangest mind picture of stripping down a gun to reassemble it, but they were dealing with completely different guns there. "Have it."

"Nothing hotter," John murmured, and that was good to know. That was great to know, that was the best thing ever. He could feel John's dick against the back of his thigh, and that... oh, God, Rodney wanted that.

He wanted it and he was going to get it, but in the mean time he was going to push back against John's fingers, letting himself breathe with it and relax. "Tease. Horrible, languid tease..."

"Mmm. Yeah. Nothing new about that." Wet, sticky trail along his leg, and God, he wanted. He wanted, and he wasn't sure if John had a condom or not, and if he was honest? He didn't care. Not really. "I want you to say it to me. What you want."

"Your dick in my ass. That's what I want, and you know it, and oh, god, you still get off on vaguely dirty talk, don't you?" He'd used to blame it on John being a mathematician, but clearly there were worse roots to it. John's hidden literary side, and --

And then John slid a third finger in, and nipped at the back of Rodney's neck, edge of his glasses pressing against Rodney's hair from the angle. "Oh, yeah. I so do," he admitted, and pushed, pushed, teased as he curled his fingers and Rodney thought he was going to fall apart before John even got his dick inside of him.

That was probably John's point, trying to unravel Rodney long before they got to the main event so he could have Rodney all wound up for it. "I need to make a note of that... Things John Likes."

"Talk dirty to me, Rodney." Throaty and hot, and his fingers were coming out, and oh. Oh. Oh. Yeah. Just like that.

Just playing a little at the edge of his asshole, toying with him. "I love it when you do that, when you use your hands like that, when you lean this close in because it makes me think that you could just slide it in with no warning at all, which..."

Which he did, a full, long thrust that made Rodney groan, no slowing down, no stopping, nothing. All he could do was cry out, arch his back and push, trying to get himself shoved back a little deeper.

It was stupid, maybe, when his body was spasming, trying to adjust to that fantastic feeling, but he liked it, those first adjusting moments, because it was like a wince and a tiny orgasm-worth of sensation all wrapped up in one, no bullets involved. "Hmn, fuck, just like that."

"I still know how you like it."

And he did. Fuck, John did, shoving up into him so that he was full, so that when he bucked back, it made his entire body tremble and then jerk because John was pushing into him, shifting, fucking up and in and just over that one spot that made him go crazy.

"And I'm gonna make sure you get it that way."

"Please, please, fuck, yes, please." And maybe he was whining, maybe he was panting and rocked his ass back to it over and over again, even when there wasn't anywhere to go. Nowhere to go but forward against the table and back into John's hips, slow and hard and Rodney could almost feel his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Fuck, Rodney." John was warm against his back, hard inside him, and God. It was so good.

Not moving yet, still, but amazing, and when John did move, pulling his hips back slowly to slam them down against Rodney's ass and into him again, he felt it all over, from the bruise he was going to have on his stomach to deep in his balls and the twitch his dick wanted to give, would have given if it had the room. "'s the point."

"It's a good point," John moaned, and did it again, and then again. Rodney's ass twinged a little, but it was worth it, worth the way John's hands slid up his sides, spread out over his shoulders. Pinned him down to the table, except for his forearms pressed against the wood, and Rodney didn't care because it was better than their last interrupted time. John was moving just right and that table was the perfect angle.

His dick brushed against the underside, and he was probably going to have to get under there with a damp wash cloth later. For now, though, he was too busy rubbing, and trying to shudder his way through without actually coming and ending this thing. Just hold on, hold back, savor the burn and push of John's dick in his ass, the way it made his cock weep, and then John pushed in just right, hit that spot that made Rodney groan and twist against the table, pushing back harder. Shouldn't have been physically possible to feel that good. Shouldn't have been physically possible to feel like John was getting in deeper, but he was pulling on Rodney's shoulders, and twisting his hips, and yeah. Yeah, oh, fuck, short, twisting shoves, and Rodney knew John was going to come any second.

Knew it and wanted to ride it out, humping back against John harder, and damn the table and the underside of it, he was almost there himself, falling into the opposite pace. "Close, close, jesus..."

"C'mon, Rodney, c'mon, c'mon..." It was a chant, halfway under John's breath, and then it was too much, because he felt it, felt John coming, sticky wet and deep, and he brushed the table one more time with his dick and followed.

Followed, and somewhere in that, the twitching breath caught feeling, the awareness that John was still half-thrusting into him even while he slowly went soft, Rodney let his arms go loose, let them slip out from under his body until he felt like he was hugging the tabletop.

If he managed to get up and stumble to his bed, he wasn't getting out of it for at least two days.

Possibly three.

"That?" John sounded slurry. "That was exactly what I needed. How 'bout you, McKay?"

"Fantastic. Is that what sexual frustration feels like? Because we could skip to maybe every other day or so for sex if it means this," Rodney sighed. He wasn't going to move off of the tabletop yet, still nice and drained feeling.

John seemed to consider it for a few minutes. "Sounds good." He rubbed his cheek against Rodney's back, a mix of skin and stubble that made him want to complain a little, and then he said, "Hey, Rodney?"

Mostly, it just made his skin feel like he needed to scratch it.

"Mnh?"

"Yanno, it's kind of early on...."

"What's kind of early on?" He turned his head, tried to look back at John. He shifted a little, pulled out of Rodney, and Rodney didn't try to stop the hiss that slid from between his teeth.

"Asking you to start spending more time at my place than you spend here. You know. That kind of thing."

"If we'd just met, sure. I'd think it was creepy. Except, I know you. Knew you." Rodney stayed flat out on the table, pondering how best to muster the energy to get up.

"Yeah." The way John drawled it was accompanied by a press of lips between his shoulder blades. "And?"

"And hmnh?" John was driving at something, but he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure at all, unless... "Was that an invitation?"

John did it again, and mmm. That felt good. "Yeah. Kind of was."

"Oh." Rodney shifted, cheek pressed against the table-top. "I'm good for it. As a general idea and something to put into practice."  
The lingering touch of John's lips trailed up his spine, and then pressed gently behind one ear. "I hoped you'd say that." One hand came down on Rodney's good side, smacking the side of his ass just a little. "C'mon. I think it'll be more comfortable in the bedroom."

"That's what you think," Rodney sighed when John shifted and oh, damn, pulled out slowly, leaving a dull ache in his wake. He'd missed that. "You haven't seen my bed yet and neither have I. Not in a while. It's theoretically possible that squirrels have moved in."

John pulled him up from the table, turned him, tugged him close. "Then I guess we'll just have to head to mine if the squirrels are too bad." He leaned in and kissed Rodney, the feel of it slow, lingering. "Let's go, McKay."

"What's your standard for 'too bad'?" He could feel John smile when he asked that, and that was Rodney's standard for good sex. If he could make John smile instead of scowl, well. It was all worth it. Worth abandoning his commission for, worth everything. 

Plus, it wasn't as if he couldn't get a job as a civilian with the SGC.

One way or another, Rodney thought, it was going to turn out okay. He'd make sure of it, and John would do the same. They'd fucked up once, and they might fuck up again, but things would be different this time. Better, he thought, leading John towards the bedroom. They'd fight, and they'd yell, and they'd have fantastic sex, and work it all out.

"Rodney, there's dust on your bedsheet."

And they'd have to change the sheets a lot more often than Rodney had recently. Oh, well.

It was worth it.


End file.
